Wu-South - Cappadonna, Rush Ratchet, Cappadonna & Rush Ratchet

Yeah… Street Flavor.

yeah.

you know?

Yo, Cap, it’s Rush… murder one, no love

Call a nigga from North Carolina

That’s what it is, New York City…

Bolo, what up?

Cack-lack…

I’ll break a nigga back, when I’m holding the mack

Me and Cap bridging the gap, on one track

The S.I.N.Y.

and the Cack-lack

I crack a nigga open like I’m drinking six packs

It’s on and popping in the bottom

Stop a nigga in the mud if he got a problem

It’s dirty out here, walk around with so much ice

I need a slay, Wayne Gretzky and they call me when it sudden death

I feel like Rocky when he ran a hundred steps

That ain’t beef, that’s pocket meat on your chest, boy

I move keys like I’m on the keyboard

Big Rush on the Triton, I got the license

To pay a sniper when I’m writing

On this microphone, I’m Mike Tyson

How Street Fighter niggas call me M. Bison

I stay high in my blood pressure, the slug’ll dead ya

Pack burners that’ll give niggas the war, it’s real

Nickel plated tech with the shiny pearl handle

Red infer' beam on the so-called vandal

Original legits, still cool like Summer Sam

You got a three hundred watt, with a low key light candle

Burning up the jam, oh, Donna can’t cook

You and the dummy hit the head, Oh Donna had you hooked

On the snub nose, because I never dug those

Part time crime, bust me from behind

Niggas that play sometime, most of the time

With the nine, big dummy bullets are blind

So to arm me and protect, you gotta move correct

And play humble, as you prepare for the rumble

Then glide like a snake, and let off like the bumble

Two bigger trigger, I figure I got a lotta

One tough, hit the fucked up by Don Dada

I’m my all black self, with the 90 shot clip

Waiting patiently for my posse to flip

So I can wet something love-love, push come to shove-shove

Might have to wet a nigga up with the snub bug

Thirty eight pistol, handle rough like Crisco

Cousin Cappa, shatter competition like crystal

If, life’s a hustle, I grind it out

So I can cop the big face, watch, diamoned out

Eyes chinky in the Bentley, pulling up in the drive way

Like Sinatra, nigga, I did it my way

Repping East side, with guns on each side

Last nigga tried, you know that he died

Who real round here, blue steel round here

Little ears on the block, get ya peeled round here

I’m the man with the rock, giving feels round here

If you want it, I can get that, hit you with a big pack

Don’t bring my shit back, six in your knick knacks

Don’t mean no harm, but I’m shooting with big gats

This and a flip jack’ll make your ass flip back

Yeah, fuck that, uh-huh, walk with me

I’m good with thousand grams, and a well in the will

While you polly in the hood, I’m on Federal Hill

Moving and shaking, underground, using Jamaicans

Moving these cakes in Montego, shoot up, ya naked

Get on and beat it, charge money, son, it’s large money

Rubberband wrapped under the hard wood floor, money

And I ain’t gonna spend a red cent

I’m just sitting on bread, try’nna get this red shit

I live for them dead presidents, ever since there was facts, high paids

I was try’nna get paid, nigga, I left 10th grade, for the american dream

Hitting hoods hard with that heroine lean

You only dream about my way of life, day or night

I’mma get it, just as long as we poor, fuck the law

Yeah, uh-huh, Street Flavor, word up

Yeah, nigga, uh-huh, give it up or get slumped, nigga

That’s how we coming through…

Fifty one, thirty six, Bel Air Road, nigga

Street Flavor…