Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Park Hill's Finest, artist - Leathafase
Date of issue: 27.12.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Park Hill's Finest |
Yo, Fes Taylor the gangsta, ride on you wankstas |
Now I pull it and shake ya, or bullets and bang ya |
Park Hill, 240 building we make a killin' |
Rap gang make a million, it’s like ransom from takin' children |
Ya’ll create the villain, and then wanna see 'em dead |
When he seein' bread, you be soaked like you peed the bed |
I’m the reason you bleed |
I’m squeezin' fly lead, right through ya fuckin' head |
Always somethin' said |
Spread love to my wolves, shed blood for my crew |
Gangster it out, do what you wanna do |
Want to talk city to city, and coach state to state |
Betty Crocker ain’t got shit on the kid, when bakin' cakes |
I brake you an eighth, get on your feet, but I ain’t wit' |
Niggas livin' off me, wake up and smell the coffee |
I know you cowards wanna off me |
I ham shower, on they walkie talkies |
Pull the caliber on porky |
Livin' star, a constellation that can’t shine |
I’m hungry, when facin' starvation, I plant nines |
Divined in the cut, you get touched our imposts |
To the spine of the gut, when you get bust by the toast |
Now you roast from the things, that I cut you on post |
Smoke a Dutch to the roach, with my criminal approach |
My material soaks in your brain cells |
Cats with scratch serials, will crack ya egg shell |
It’s Leathafase bitch, get the correct name spelled |
Your son, your a lame, and I’mma make your frame melt |
Under the belt, lies a 3−89, loco I’m crazy |
I got big guns larger then a premature baby |
Now you see us all gravy, over white rice, home slice |
Bring animosity, precise to your doorstep |
No remorse, no regrets, I just inject death |
From a handheld object that’ll lay you to rest |
You know how we do, lay you to rest nigga |
Comin' for ya’ll niggas, explosion |
Nothin' to say now, industry beef |
We gon' spray rounds to lay down, crime boss pay now |
Don’t get it fucked up, drape that’ll extra grime |
When I pop up, you next in line |
Swift with a nine, and conflict, the four foot five |
And we AWOL, can’t control these Animalz, and mind that |
Staten Island’s back on the map |
Why, the PLO, fugitives that, get used to the fact |
Drama in the streets, you gon' see it, son get used to the clap |
Block bust emotions, picture doggie preview that |
Carlton Fisk, low on the Lex, gorilla Homicide Housing |
Came to collect, no sound, just pain in your neck |
This Homicide Housing, comin' for ya’ll niggas |
I run with, R felons, and reputed assassins |
Reckless criminals, who live for the action |
Like when it’s on, beef becomes merciless |
And this coincides with slashes, stabbings, and murders |
Countless with bleep on the scene |
Jet in crib, to change outfits |
Hopin' they ain’t seen at the time |
To return to the scene of the crime |
The shake cops and snitches |
The name of the pitches, incorporate with a mind |
Who eliminates problems in any bank in it’s path of ritches |
See your treasury, and life is through ya math and bitches |
Half made it, half seen it, and half statistics |
I know, niggas bein' tried for bodies |
Cause when they got snatched for ratchets |
Their guns had match for listens |
Trays ya presented, is somethin' like words of a witness |
That got permission, to go and criticize my flow |
But one things for sho', which ya’ll can’t condemn this |
Get with infinite glow, and ya’ll can’t just end it |
You got beef, then kill yourself, fuck your henchmen |
I roll with a dirty dozen, thirsty hustlin' |
Crawl back, you heard me cousin, ya herbs be frontin' |
Dangerous I came with, banger and fists |
Majorin' this, you think not, wager your chips |
We lay in the pits, with weed bags, razors and bigs |
Fuck this cow hide, this how I, been able the gift |
Make them thugs get down on the floor, we found on the low |
For them pesos, we pound on your dough |
Wolves in the wilderness, from bricks on the juggle |
Equip with the muscle, big fish in this hustle |
Chicks that’ll fuck you, then bust you |
No love in the struggle, and don’t talk to me, I don’t trust you |
Raw like ants that’ll bite, how to get hype |
Runnin' with the mountain bike, shoutin' my kite, what up? |