| Betcha jump up on my dick now, shit is bonkers…
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| You fucking idiot
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| Wicker man, trigger man, post on top of the hill
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| Get a Gram', flip a grand, try and hop through a mill
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| If I blew the steele, concealed at the top of my sweats
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| I pop you for real, aim for the top of your chest
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| Fuck the respect, power’s all I need today
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| In that LC Lex so I can speed away, you know?
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| I don’t think so, I didn’t expect you to
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| You got powers, plus cops posted next to you
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| Listen to the cash flow, rap flow like Fidel
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| Castro, asshole, dude you get in the shell
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| Oooh, we sippin' the L, cee-lo, blowin' sticky-sticky
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| Navigator posted, sittin' high on them mickey-mickeys
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| Watch 'em drop fifty in yo city, from that icky-icky
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| Calico, strip 'em shells through your whole residential
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| See only presidents be blowin' spliffy like a rasta wit me
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| That chopper with me, pop a copper just for actin' iffy
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| Leave 'em stank and pissy, Cali pearl handle murder murder
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| Burn by my sermon, I’mma hurt 'em when I turn it on 'em
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| Steady serving on 'em, swervin' 'on 'em in that fishy-fishy
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| V12, Lex drop, blow ya top, tippy-tippy
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| I destroy mics quick, leave parties crippled
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| Get down on the track, just sweat and ripple
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| Start commotion when I rap, my steeze’ll get you
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| Only if you hood for real, my steeze hit you
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| Butterfly fuck niggas, bees’ll sting you
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| Niggas that sling dope, I hope the d’s don’t get you
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| Stay on the low, kid, breeze with the pistol
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| For all my real niggas get g’s with the pistol
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| Hold your hood down, nigga, cheese is the issue
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| Raise your guns up, nigga, squeeze and let loose
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| Ready quickly niggas know I gets busy
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| Made 'em lifty-lifty off the ground
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| When the pound hit, at a miscy muffler’s rap
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| It ain’t no sound bitch, now remy marty, marty crown
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| With the light Bacardi, now I wanna fight somebody
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| Nigga, pass the shotty-shotty, twizzy twelve gauge
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| Mossberg with the stocks off, shoot ya block off
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| With the mack when I pop off, fuck the drop off
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| Take the paper straight to papi papi
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| I’ve been cookin' cutter that’s pitching on your blocky blocky
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| Snitches try to stop me, sending word to the copy copy
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| But I’m never sloppy, so I beat it, nigga watch me, watch me
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| Like a big screen, fifty inches in the living room
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| Just consider moves, that I make, type forbidden dude
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| Niggas tend to do, what they see, like a baby baby
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| Sonny acting shady with three eighties on they lady lady
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| Maybe they won’t play from a distance, lizzy long range
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| This is strong game, like Gotti tephlon frame
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| You stepped on chains, just respected to the Pocono’s
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| Cappa smoking bones, of that sticky-icky malibu
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| Bizzy green as a moon, no, we gon' throw it up
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| Put it in the air, Don pizzy P, Mo' it up
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| Yeah, nigga, Street Flavor
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| 4−4-3−3-0−6-9−7-6−2, nigga, we do what we gotta do
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| Ratchet Rush, nigga Don Don, what’s up
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| Goon Squad Hooligan… |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Street Flavor, artist - Cappadonna. Album song Wu South Vol.1 The Perscription, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп