Lyrics Street Rules - Mad Skillz

Street Rules

Yeah
Yo this go out to everybody, just doin what they gotta do
KnowhatI’msayin?
To get that cream, knahmean?
The streets don’t care who you are
And those who fake jacks son they never get far
Yo, where I reside fake niggas run and hide (what?)
The streets be wicked, keep that biscuit by yo' side
What the fuck?
Who the next crew to get run amuck?
It’s all real over here, on the streets you get stuck
For fakin jacks don’t max cause the block stay hot
Watch your back for the jeal' niggas tryin to get what you got (true)
Count your dough slow, never flash your ends
Always keep a stash spot and never make new friends
Commit your sins (right) confess on your own time kid
Never think that you too nice to do a fuckin bid
Don’t nobody but you wanna see, you gettin bigger (uh-huh)
So for every loyal nigga (what?) it’s two spoiled niggas (true)
Midnight to six cliques pullin sweet vicks (uhh)
Fulfullin cream dreams, takin niggas out the mix
Nine-pound locked down by you and yo' crew
But watch yo' back nigga (why?) because the streets don’t have to
Yo, fuck gettin high, I need high dough
And when you high all you seein is yo' money movin slow
So scratch the itch, don’t slip and don’t snitch
Leavin?
C’mon, this ain’t «Superfly» bitch
Ask black, the kid with the wide-body Ac'
Put a freeze on your cheese and you’re workin 'til he stack
Nuff bills to chill, sniff lines and shit
'til some niggas hit crib on some tec-9 shit
I numb gums like coke when you take a taste
You in the wrong motherfuckin place tryin to be Scarface
Niggas be schemin and slippin on Henny demon
Tryin to outlast the next ass, cash got him fiendin
To rock on the wrong blocks and don’t know the tactics
In God we trust, mad deep like Sounds of Blackness
Locked in the rule of no sharin, it might seem
I’m selfish but I’m for delf I can’t spend whipped cream
Break it down
The man is so hot niggas is catchin suntans
Makin plans to jam after they bag up this next gram
Brothers gettin laced, I caught a new case
But if they want me, they got to kill me twice like Screwface
Excess players I got no time for rest man
Keep that dough flowin, motherFUCK owin the next man
Neighborhood villain, hoodie Glock no smile
When I see you it’s gon' be, executioner style
What nigga?
Check the stee', yeah you know how it get
Out here some ol' (?) Columbian blindfold shit (true)
Dou-ble go to club chill drink holder (uhh)
Discrete down to low cabbage gettin street soldiers (hah)
Duckin guys 'til heads recognize the real
Lettin lead fly, but instead I maintain and chill (uh-huh)
You know the deal, kids get ill don’t sleep
You get your card pulled quick fuckin around in these streets
Yeah, you know how we do
Big shout to everybody
I ain’t mad at ya, do your thing, y’knahmean?
Northside, Southside, Eastern, Western
Niggas gotta win