Lyrics Boondock Saints - Snake Hollywood, Mic Geronimo, Metaphor The Great

Boondock Saints

Bang like the 4th of July
The body of Christ, righteous thoughts that fall from the sky
I traveled the cosmos, my clothes wreakin' of la smoke
Im good in any hood, I get down wherever I go
& Ain’t nobody backin me down, thats word to «Papo»
Been nice since the sneakers wit the Velcro, LOTTO
Follow the bravado
The mandible grip of hannibal lecter, get ya face mangled & swallowed--Bitch
You know I walk it like I talk it, Amigo rappin Perico
I used to whip the base in the trap wit the homie Bree-Low
Free those, niggas who live by the G-Code, sip lime mojitos-
See through the eye of a needle just like a peephole
Im low-key tho, like a midget at his front door
If you dont want war, then what the F#ck you bought your gun for?
Truest form of flattery is swagger-jack
Rat-a-tat, lay you on ya back, rip the stitchin out ya red MAGA hat
This is boom-bap rap for the shooters that black without thought-
Never move without the knapsack…
Nah… ain’t no Political party attached to it
We just speakin the facts fluent through black music
These bitches change niggas like they change clothes
I identify with killas, leave ya brains on ya clothes… Snake Holly
Nigga you ain’t me
Saw me wit Ab-Soul
Heard me wit Dave East
Strangled them same beats
Ran through them same streets
I’m 2 degrees of separation from Jay-Z
Nigga you ain’t me!
Sleepin giant, follow the rapid eye movement
I prolly shack the booth with the catalogs of my music
You tryna shake it too, but ya swagger is inconclusive
The Masta IC & his talented gifted student
The most extravagant, Pan-Afrikan
Im capturing the passion of my ancestors through my arrogance
Yall ain’t listenin', white man’s wickedness
Done washed away the culture from my folks through baptisms & christenings
But brave generals, abolish the slave rituals
Fade you like a fiend wit a vein clogged up wit Fentanyl
Project Saint, Boondock ghetto Apostle
Cold blooded murder on the ops when I spot you--Bang!
(I am not for games, I am so attracked to the dolla signs
Money on my brain like…)
Live from Skid Row homie
You can still smell the spice, piss and the sherm on me
It’s the great one metaphor
This is dope, this is raw, go & cut you a straw
Matter fact this is crack rock hard boy
Nevermind a Mic bring rose stem pipes and chore boy
You see I got them lames in the hot seat
Cuz I’m on top of the game like I’m rapping from the box seats (yes sir)
From dirty jerz to them dirty South Streets
I made base and pitched without cleats or mouthpiece
Never been to South Beach, but I got some fam near there- that’ll lift you up
for the change like couch seats
(We don’t be online talkin bout we working- we ain’t got time nigga we be
working)
Stop all that gun shit plus y’all Liars-
Y’all just hold straps on tracks like subway Riders (META!!)
Nigga you ain’t me
Saw me wit Ab-Soul
Heard me wit Dave East
Strangled them same beats
Ran through them same streets
I’m 2 degrees of separation from Jay-Z
Nigga you ain’t me!
I promise you this… I been around killas that respected me
I been around bosses that accepted me
& covered under the umbrella protected me
Something greater I do think connected me
West Pico to Schenectady, I never let 'em get the best of me
Shit, the game needs a remedy
This is where the bullets dont hit ya, the diabetes’ll kill ya-
Not a beat of the rhythm could seem to me unfamiliar
& clout chasers won’t take me off my zenith cause I’m undefeated
Can’t afford the bullshit, things been good-
Dont wanna burn nobody now, although I know I should-
The Sith Lord, been turned out, know I could, But-
The picture’s better understood
Used to sprint, now I pace the run
Give my back to these niggas now & face the Sun
Cause none of yall are worth lawyers fightin through a case wit guns
Dogfood & lactose replacin funds
If you love what you do then the money’s gone come
See all we about here is gettin money where I’m from
Style too iLL, catalog of accomplishment
I’m on a cloud you couldn’t reach wit a obelisk (Nigga!)