Lyrics Blood - Your Old Droog

Blood

Blood x3
You’re just a parasite sucking.
Blood
Blood
Stop My bread and you gon shed
Blood
Have you in the hospital needing
Blood
On the streets on the snow you’ll see
Blood
Nah I ain’t a crip or a
Blood
But through the years we dropped tears sweatin'
Blood
In my veins flows ice not
Blood
To be this nice you gotta sacrifice
Blood
Sell your soul like Robert Johnson or something (who that? Who that?)
I’m sort of like an old blues player
Guitar casin' a ride, and I stay with a slide
Dumbed down every lyric, I’m adaptin' (why?)
So it can bump in these hoods that even Eric would get clapped in
Who would’ve thought you’d see a car passin' blastin' the captain
Droog made it happen with fools that be trappin'
And then jewels get yapped
And them dark blocks is where the crime blind a crew lurk
They’d rather memorize gang codes instead of school work
My troop got jumped and told me it’s my turn (what?)
I’m cutting all this class so I won’t have to learn
Said you gotta scrap for 3 whole minutes
Son handing me lessons, I gave 'em back like a backwood with a hole in it
Used to cop a bag of gree and have females rolling L’s
I ain’t talkin' 'bout the magazine
But we ain’t pullin' from the same spliff
She might be herped up
I roll my own when I’m lighting that purp up
Pay a goon I just met to kill
So chill Candle and you’ll only get a Gil
I got these mad shout techniques from my OG in the ville
(Ayo come here let me talk to you my nigga)
Get still, spill
Gotta practice an illuminati ritual
Won’t do it for the skill
But I bet to get rich you will
Kill your own family member for fame
And do more foulness so they remember the name
On the low, your captain never gonna blow
Bout to set it on you, troops wanna know
What happens when you get rocked with a bottle to the side of your head
Blood shed like children in the God bless the dead
I rock a Coogi to the show
But fuck Bill Cosby he never gave me any jellow though
My man Elmo got the beats and elo for the low
Other producers can eat the yellow snow
Saw what i did with potential, that’s untapped
While you stuck in that one trap, stuntin'
Puttin' off fourth down they don’t wanna snap
Artists got no guns like a blunt rap
We’re not from the same mode
I used to come home with bleedin' knuckles and blame it on the cold
Every week I had the studio (blood)
Now I’m on UK and Paris flights, y’all some parasites suckin'
We used to get herbs for they pack
make you cough up bud
when you thought that newports
make you cough up blood
see a lot of men fall to the powers of menthal
try to get away like a renthal, I did
like the glove ain’t fit I must acquit
every time I get the urge I just suck on a tit
droogs don’t eat the box when lickin' nearist
broke through with a chick
harder to pull than american spirits
I know broads who preach celibacy
then sell pussy in some parts of the world
it’s a delecacy, they slangin'
Bangin' like my son who’s hover, damn
You drug dealin' rappers didn’t move a gram
also that counsience shit is a sham
cats play that humble role then step to hoes like
«you don’t know who I am?»
when they don’t, get heated and leave
the people should feel cheated and decieved
hold up, let the peep breath
fuckin' packin' mad sylables rap
I’ll have to start rhymin' like buzy b
I still get buzy b I’m a relic
they say I sold my soul and I got no soul
how am I gonna sell it?