Carlos "6 July" Broady - Saturday Nite lyrics

Saturday night, Uptown Riding past Kansas Fried Chicken What's popping kid, we in the mix It's chilly 40 below Gate's closed gotta catch Dr. J's Blow on my hand, rub on my nose Tap the gla**, stop fronting Duke, fresh pair of jeans Look I got loot, eleven in the beige boots Heard a screech pull up, these Jakes flashed me five pictures One had my man's mug, Semi stepped brother hugs You asked the wrong guy son I'm from Atlanta, yeah we know Mr. Coles Flew in two days ago to see his fam' But we been watching you, crazily The whole Staten Island sh**ting on you Wisdom Bird's pregnant out in Baisley Holding snow in your ear, fresh baldie tried to change up Not truck today, still looking fly, still slammed up hung You mind popping your trunk, slow your pace Starks fixed your face, copped out the six, five years probash' You dealing with a lot of science, motherf**er we're watching you Make me wanna lick shots at you You disgust me, screwing me down, grab my gun Go head bust me Heard you hate Jake that's what it must be Hands behind your back, spread your legs Just found a roach in your tray It's not mine f**er, what I said You make the 13th n***a A multimillion dollar operation is based upon it yo Where the hell's the RZA He's selling mics, wireless joints Special made to go off in your hand and which went out on point Switched to the next scene, I'm at the crib bugging out On how po' live, hating plus hara**ing the kid Park the truck in the double face garage Dial 1-900-Raekwon, tell the God sh**'s mega real Flashing me on BET, Planet Groove, Rap City News NAACP committees {​​​*abruptly ends*}​​​