| That nigga told, he been rockin' wit the rollers
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| Chain gang slimey bitch Rocky Balboa
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| I be on dope bitch fell into a coma
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| Really from the four’s had to get it off the corner
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| Aunty and them smokers on the porch playing poker
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| Fo' nick hefty, too bulky for a holster
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| There’s all type’s of bitches on my Motorolla
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| We pulling out the corner store wit hella baking soda
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| Another cold summer I ain’t seen a summer colder
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| Gang enhancement charges when them people roll up on us
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| They throw the hold up on us plus they boosting up the bail
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| The crime rate quiet all the shooters in the cell
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| It’s Hell Gang bitch i’m going straight to hell
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| Just made it harder for yourself it ain’t no way that I could tell
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| It’s either a maney jumpshot or hit the NFL
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| We fucked his career off he got possession’s for them sales
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| One day i’ll be balling, yeah
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| I’m outside by the corner
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| I’m trynna get this money, yeah
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| I just flipped another quarter
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| Started off in a stolo, yeah
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| Now I’m sliding in a foreign
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| Touchdown city solo, yeah
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| From the bottom I’m scorin
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| Blood!
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| Started off buying plug, ten for forty
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| Outside me and Dirt he was carrying the 40
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| Linden street barkin rolled coke on the third
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| Trynna touch these five racks from the first to the third
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| Crack dreams bitch what you know bout cookin
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| Instagram flippin black gate we juggin'
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| Got whatever you need, just bring your lighter
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| Been out here all day and I’m pulling an all nighter
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| Pants dirty, black hoody I’m on a mission
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| Fuck these bitches, gotta get it I’m chasin chicken
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| Boiling water, add the soda watch it rise up
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| And Scrr, Scrr, Scrr, when I scrape the sides up
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| Nose dirty, snortin coke from all my zippers
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| Real pimpin, need dough from all my bitches
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| Nigga I was sellin coke to my own father
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| If I ain’t sell it to him he would buy it from my partner
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| Blood!
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| Pigs hit the block my real ones went to jail
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| Ain’t no money to post bail so they sittin in cells
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| My youngins shootin at civilians
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| I ain’t wit killin children
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| But it’s bracken blood it’s day to day
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| You caught at the gas station now a 40 in your face
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| Now who callin who phone, hut, 48
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| I’m the first to line up, I ain’t a second late
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| Slid off on some real shit
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| Real niggas feel this
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| I see you endin up in the ICU
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| Hitta’s know I rock wit the Hell Gang, and free my nigga Truth
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| It be the solid ones that go first, and the snitchin is bool
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| I bleed the bag for bag, misleading these hoes
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| Still gettin it out the gutter and it’s me and my bros
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| I don’t claim to be, I’m in these streets, put it on P’s
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| Free real niggas, so fuck you industry niggas |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Scorin , by - Mozzy. Song from the album Fake Famous, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп