Lyrics May Store - Griselda, Keisha Plum

May Store

I was starin' them pots over with terrorist block soldiers
Yeah, I went from heroin to a Merrill Lynch stock broker (Ah)
She coulda got a pair of tits from the pair of kicks I’m quotin'
All my hoes crazy, I can’t fuck unless she bipolar
Eastside legend like Sly and Rodney C
I really beat white, I’m Mr. T from Rocky III
You let these hoes sweet talk you, you niggas get rocked to sleep
You pay that bitch rent, I ask that ho what she got for me (What you got for me?
They know I’m up now, but my only hustle was not the streets (Nah)
So when they touched down, I can still front you a block a piece
I know hoes that won’t fuck you and jewelers that’s out your reach (Uh-huh)
I don’t hate niggas, I see 'em as students that I can teach (Butcher)
Ayo, I’m in these streets waist deep (Talk to 'em)
If I can’t eat with you, you can’t eat (Hah)
That’s how we give it up on May Street (May Block, pussy)
May Street, pistol whip you, you get your face beat (Cap)
.40, no safety, tucked right where my waist be (What's poppin'?)
Yeah, race to the top, who wanna race me?
(Uh-huh)
I don’t chase money, money chase me (I'm gettin' bags, nigga)
Countin' these bands, it’s been a great week (Cap)
'Member, I cooked my first deuce, that jar busted in Renee seat (I was fucked
up)
I feel like Cam, painted the Wraith pink (Hah)
Bitches like, damn, they wanna taste me (Uh-huh), skeleton AP (You see me)
Give me a minute, bro, I can’t think (Hold up)
I’m too busy countin' this money for the lawyer so my dog can get his case beat
(We on the way, nigga)
Yeah, I been a G since I jumped off the porch (Hah)
Still ridin' with the pump in the Porsche (Cap)
Yeah, still G-ridin', leave you slumped on your porch (Boom, boom, boom)
I came up hustlin' the stuff that you snort
Them niggas sneak dissin' me, that’s nothin', of course (That's light)
'Cause I can have them niggas clipped like it’s nothin', of course (Hah)
Rock this designer shit, she wanna know what this shit cost
I told her all you need to know is you fuckin' a boss (Haha)
Yeah, chopper loaded, lock and loaded, snitchin', I do not condone it
Pop his dome in, I don’t know shit, I keep goin'
Forty pointers, watch is frozen, I send ten
From Toronto to San Antonio but it’s not DeRozan, box is loaded up
Ayo, we know it’s fuckin' murder, shoot you, ain’t gon' take it further (Brr)
Hit your son up, hit your daughter, shot your bitch, put on your coffin
Niggas starvin', my niggas in Ferrari with the top off (Skrrt)
And niggas bossin', need talk for stunner bricks, don’t call Steve Austin (Ah)
Fear of God joggers, joggin', niggas think they fake important
To me, you just a fuck nigga, blow your head off soon as I walk in (Boom, boom,
boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
I don’t do no fuckin' talkin', ballin', Just Don sportin'
GT on Rodeo with my rich white bitch (Skrrt, rich white bitch)
Niggas talkin' culture, but not like this (But not like this)
I’m a killer and I’m gonna kill again
I wrote this with a devilish grin
I’m lookin' at his neck full of gold
I know what kind of car he drove
Holy Ghost, his soul that Calico
Any one of my niggas can snuff you
They solid and all official
What would ChineGun do?
Buffalo is ruthless, throw you off the roof shit
Kicked him in his face until he’s fuckin' toothless
Murderous music, I’m from the fuckin' zoo
City full of villains and mobsters too
Burner to his dome, what would ChineGun do?
It’s Griselda, nigga
The Butcher, Machine, Gunn, and Plum
Filthiness riddled all in your eardrum
When it’s a price on your head, it’s not up for discussion
Two slugs in your bitch face, those are the repercussions
This nigga wouldn’t stop pleadin' for his life all of a sudden
We wipe away your whole bloodline
That’s word to slime
So we waitin' until his seeds get off the bus
Guaranteed these lil' bastards gonna put up a fuss
And we slittin' their throats right in front of you
Thoughts of a criminal, what would ChineGun do?
Niggas will pistol whip your granny
Run a train on your mammy
I’m spiteful and death is delightful
Yeah