Lyrics Hella Fresh - Corleone

Hella Fresh

Yo Prince from the top b You dun know how I do this fucking thing man
Everybody’s asking wheres Corleone man
Corleone’s been trapping man
Corleone’s been on the block
You get me?
All these rappers they’re talking smack on the net and hiding
Alright lets go Pussy what you feel like?
Follow on some street hype
I do this shit in real life
Mac on the speed bike
I trap and I eat right
Stacking that p right
Crack and the b’s right
Been doing this since knee high
Hella fresh, so fly
Never stress, so high
Nigga yes, no lie
This niggas death, don’t cry
The dinner stretch, four five
Thirty six, four nines
Been rapping since 96
I bodied him in four lines
Please, don’t compare to these
Still on the roads, and I really don’t give a fuck
Still on my toes, rolling with the nina tucked (10 toes)
Out in the cold trying to get this nigga popped
Black lives matter till that black nine splatters
How you trap line rappers
But you no trappers
So you lying motherfuckers
And your rhymes don’t match
Got me crying motherfuckers
Hope you die so bad
Trapping all year, no rapping this year
My guns gone cold, no clapping this year
They’re doing ten toes, that’s a fashion this year
I’m doing ten hoes, yeah I’m mashing these squares (Kilo)
Co this, Co that
Co switched, no brah
Co’s shit, so whack
Co switched his flow brah
Co’s broke, no brah
Co gets doe brah
What I got to show stacks to please all these road cats
Flashing my whip
Whack on my hip
Back on the strip
Bitches back on my dick
Co’s back on his shit
Trapping to bits
Wrapping them bricks
Young bucks slapping in bits
No slacking or slip (Never)
I’m not a punch line rapper
I’m a crunch time cracker
A front line trappers on the cunch line trapping
Done time slacking on the cunch line lacking
All suede suit, blue suede in the coupe
All suede boots and my sprayers in the boot
I’m rolling with bob, no caine in the (Castro)
Spitting mad bars, now they’re saying its a fluke
They’re always chatting some shit
Till they get their mom hit
, I just dump it Cock it back and bump it Them niggas, they’re just fronting
They ain’t really done things
All my niggas on things
Yeah we really run things (GB)
GB fell off, prick GB sell arff
That OG fell off, I’ll blow his head off
Eggie’s with a chick, eating chicken and jollof
Beretta on my hip, got the bricks of kellogs (Ricky Lakey)
Tit for tat,
Free my niggas in the jail cells, Biz and Snap (Biz)
I’ll ping a nigga over, you think its rap?
Listen
I brought life to this rap game
These niggas lie and they acting
I’ll get my nine and I’ll clap him
He won’t survive with the mac 10
That nigga snitched and he’s bad now
Look at my wrist, I just brag loud
Look at my bitch she’s a bad brown
All of my clique we were swagged out (GB)
Look at my whip I just flashed out
I’m getting bricks from the flat now
I’ll give you tips on the trap, how?
(Yeah mate)
Look at my kicks thats a bag down
Don’t you ever talk that smack (Never)
Your not bad bro your a prat (Your a mug)
GB logo in my cap (GB)
I run my own shit, I’m !!
(Corleone)