M.E.D. - Serving lyrics

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M.E.D. - Serving lyrics

[Intro: Blu] Ay yo, servin' S-Servin' S-Servin' [Verse 1: Blu] Ay yo, whether it's not pushing blocks Cushions is (?) draw Servin' is, what we do most Certainly on the coast Novelty with it n***as is lottery numbers Balling is constantly In and out of the slum Gotta keep my hustling steady In and out of the summer You n***as messy, spaghetti We in and out like the burger Servin' them 24/7, seven eleven we servin' 9 to 5 is my motto Red David, we working Red daytons, playa Picture that pedal pedaling through you With the spinners reflecting off of the puddles in the sewer See, that clack don't move Weaving them fiends right to you With that smile on, s**ers Like I never knew a cooler n***a [Hook: Blu + MED] Servin' Windows tinted leanin' with the central tracks Ay yo, servin' Bossing on them (?) Ay yo, servin' Even when them curbs when they shootin' (servin') k** 'em when that instrumental keep 'em (servin') Big wheel, gleam how I lean on 'em (servin') Pull up on the scene with the beat ballin' (servin') 50 in my jeans, with the fiends calling (servin') Even when that instrumental raw [Verse 2: MED] 24/7 heavyweights City or state to state Beating a whip right out the Super 8 You kidding my n***a, with a syringe Loop breaks , praising your savior behind shades Bruising fools, mommy on the, uh Catch a body when I Glock Pop a shotty, dying love, hun No offense, bummy we resent Probably bumping 2Pacalypse, swervin' Third figure, 50 bird kilo you get served Herb or either let it burn, word Malt liquor slang chorus from the blur Picture tryna get right 'fore the first Earn amount or nothing for your bank account Grind like the brakes is out Three kings 'bout to get royally slain Fresh rap in a foil for fiends [Hook] [Verse 3: Hodgy Beats] I spliff herb and get served It's the word about these picture perfect I piss on curves, like I'm freaking nervous I'm just a pervert, looking at a b**h that's looking sherbert Sorbet, metropolitans, smoke and drink Marys get married to Cosmopolitans Bottled it in (?) I go in like a gentleman Headed to an optometry To see if I'm a simple men With bigger plans, no kiddie land My head spins, shorter than Mini-Me I'm the titty man, hand me some titties man I got titty hands, counting paper Like a busy man with like 50 grand I got opportunity I see Sick with a disease, n***a catching your decease Rest in peace, n***a, please no resurrection I'll accept it If I'm included In the will written on your f**in' d**h bed That's well said, and heaven said it And it all began at city college, eleven credits [Hook]