Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Toolz of the Trade, artist - Smif-N-Wessun. Date of issue: 30.03.2020
Song language: English
Toolz of the Trade |
| My first love was a deuce-deuce, nice and slim |
| Tucked in my Chucker boots, what a priceless gem |
| When I took her out to the clubs, we got right in She kept me safe, even held me down in fights with men |
| I like my murder mommies loud and thick |
| Handles tight on grip, not shy ta spit |
| Make daddy proud of shit |
| Four foot’five hooker, move the whole crowd looker |
| Short stack black, well-done beef cooker |
| My tre-eighty kept me crazy Dunn, she had me whipped |
| In the whip high, riding by, ready ta spit |
| She like to talk shit, she’s a cocky bitch |
| Firm grip all black like liquorices |
| I sleep with hoes and, creep with hoes |
| Eat off hoes, I love these four-fours |
| Or the 9 doubled, in the L Bubble |
| Smashing security with something, we all in to stunting |
| Hook: Steele (Tek) |
| These are the tools of the trade (that we use to get paid) |
| When we cruise in Escalades on escapades (with guns ablaze) |
| Been amazed since the younger age (Safe from the hunger pangs) |
| Bang when the trouble came (Pioneers of gun slang) |
| Party with them things (A little somethin’somethin') |
| The fire’s in the game (my system be thumping) |
| It was love at first sight when I burst the pipe |
| Off the project roof in the middle of night |
| On the block independence day, pistols ignite |
| Ghetto tunes we vibe to, write rhymes on the site |
| Nigga, my forty-four was raw, she had me wired |
| Had my dick rock solid first time I fired |
| Had a sis that was solid, Smif N Wessun medallion |
| Only fuck with professionals and kids with thousands |
| One bitch her ass was plump |
| Nickname China shotgun, nigga used to love how she pumped |
| She kept the money looking double barrel |
| Shoe string around my neck, the whole party peril (?) |
| You bring your whole apparel |
| Boots, coats, change, rings and wallets |
| Break your pockets, love when niggas think they brought it Jump up and run a wrestle dog, we don’t tussle |
| Squeeze off, let a gang of little pellets touch you |
| Hook |
| Get 'em at six, when they brains open a range |
| Show 'em the reigns of how to squeeze eight of them thing |
| Let them grow for a spell, then I catch 'em at twelve |
| Wit the one in their head, that’s how I’m taking the L When they graduate to sixteen, its all bets off |
| Shells catching no relations when the semi’s going off |
| My nine milli had me silly smoking dro with phillies |
| Feeling like a big Willy takin’cabs to the city |
| Seven-forty illy, twisting the sticky hash from Ricky |
| Trigger itchy, nice and slippery, fuck wit me Have you ever seen a forty five before? |
| Big Mac 11 nozzle right pon your jaw |
| Hook |