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[Verse 1]
Walked up three stories just to see shorty
Each story I walked up had its own story
Oh lordy, real shit, no glory
Weirdos, loners, stoners, yellin families
Get to shorty door, step in its anatomy
And I study that shit from the hips to the tits
To little back dimples I peep while I hit
Even the feets is ripped, shit
If the feet look sweet, the feet needs licks
Once her lips hit dick, it leave me sick
I hold it, unfold it, bone it, skeet quick
Thatâs as much about the body that I need to know
Turn to shorty âMami, I need to goâ
âPapi you said youâd spend the evening thoughâ
Is what she said to me, eventually I calm her down
Went down the stairs, open up the door, hit with a wall of sound
In the city all alone, thousand people all around
In the city all alone, thousand people all around
[Verse 2]
Take a turn, at this point my main concern
Where the buds everyday I burn so I can grub
I need at least a dub, but I only got ten so the weedâs a dub
I been walking for a minute now Iâm weak as fuck
I need to take a seat but only got this motherfucking street, Iâm stuck
But then it hit me, I know who got tree for us
And yeah boy, Iâm talking that real sour
Tired, thought of the fire gave me will power
Get off my ass and walk right down to silver towers
Man now itâs just me and the kids
Big boy spliff, pork buns coming out the fridge
And homies mines bottles getting swigged
So then I sip, sip, then I sip some more
To the moment I was drenched and I had to go
Playing corners left me on the floor
Get up, dust myself up to the corner store
I needed eats, now Iâm sauced in the streets, had to stop
Lost in the sauce, walking east but hardly I could walk
I finally found a cab that let me rock, I hopped in
Told him where to let me off
I told him where to let me off
[Verse 3]
Sticking my head up out that taxi cabby
He let me light in the back seat actually
Open the window all he ask me naturally
I looked through the glass, see some shabby
Of the cabi tryna pass me, pass me
Another day for your ass, we max speed
Hair blowin' in the wind, thatâs a win
No matter what type of whip we be in
Even if it ainât a Benz
We been around the east river with the spins
Just tryna get back up to our ends
Fact that Iâm drunk what, tuck me into bed
You donât get me God, then you donât get the squad
Feel like itâs out Akira crusing up the FDR
[Outro]
You know the thing with Patrick is that the guy eats, sleeps, and shits fuckin' lyrics. You know what Iâm sayin', thatâs all the fuckin' guys knows how to do. If he doesnât have rapping heâs dead, you know what Iâm saying, he canât do nothing else. He canât wipe his fuckin' ass in so many fuckin' ways. He canât clean up his room. He canât do his laundry. All that motherfucker can do is throw rhymes, see words in his fuckin' sleep, and just like put things together and telling stories of his generation. And I feel like since I met him, the kid, all he ever did was just fuckin' rap