Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Park Hill's Finest , by - LeathafaseRelease date: 27.12.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Park Hill's Finest , by - LeathafasePark 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? |