Rush - Street Flavor lyrics

[Intro: Cappadonna (Rush)] Uh-huh (yeah) uh-huh (my f**in' Street Flavor) f**in' ping-pong head (Ratchet Rush) Street Flavor (fifty-one, thirty-six) Street Flavor Ya new neighbor, n***a (give it to ya n***as one time) Betcha jump up on my dick now, sh** is bonkers... You f**ing idiot [Rush] Wicker man, trigger man, post on top of the hill Get a Gram', flip a grand, try and hop through a mill If I blew the steele, concealed at the top of my sweats I pop you for real, aim for the top of your chest f** the respect, power's all I need today In that LC Lex so I can speed away, you know? I don't think so, I didn't expect you to You got powers, plus cops posted next to you Listen to the cash flow, rap flow like Fidel Castro, a**hole, dude you get in the shell Oooh, we sippin' the L, cee-lo, blowin' sticky-sticky Navigator posted, sittin' high on them mickey-mickeys Watch 'em drop fifty in yo city, from that icky-icky Calico, strip 'em shells through your whole residential See only presidents be blowin' spliffy like a rasta wit me That chopper with me, pop a copper just for actin' iffy Leave 'em stank and pissy, Cali pearl handle murder murder Burn by my sermon, I'mma hurt 'em when I turn it on 'em Steady serving on 'em, swervin' 'on 'em in that fishy-fishy V12, Lex drop, blow ya top, tippy-tippy [Cappadonna] I destroy mics quick, leave parties crippled Get down on the track, just sweat and ripple Start commotion when I rap, my steeze'll get you Only if you hood for real, my steeze hit you bu*terfly f** n***as, bees'll sting you n***as that sling dope, I hope the d's don't get you Stay on the low, kid, breeze with the pistol For all my real n***as get g's with the pistol Hold your hood down, n***a, cheese is the issue Raise your guns up, n***a, squeeze and let loose [Rush] Ready quickly n***as know I gets busy Made 'em lifty-lifty off the ground When the pound hit, at a miscy muffler's rap It ain't no sound b**h, now remy marty, marty crown With the light Bacardi, now I wanna fight somebody n***a, pa** the shotty-shotty, twizzy twelve gauge Mossberg with the stocks off, shoot ya block off With the mack when I pop off, f** the drop off Take the paper straight to papi papi I've been cookin' cutter that's pitching on your blocky blocky Snitches try to stop me, sending word to the copy copy But I'm never sloppy, so I beat it, n***a watch me, watch me Like a big screen, fifty inches in the living room Just consider moves, that I make, type forbidden dude n***as tend to do, what they see, like a baby baby Sonny acting shady with three eighties on they lady lady Maybe they won't play from a distance, lizzy long range This is strong game, like Gotti tephlon frame You stepped on chains, just respected to the Pocono's Cappa smoking bones, of that sticky-icky malibu Bizzy green as a moon, no, we gon' throw it up Put it in the air, Don pizzy P, Mo' it up [Outro: Cappadonna] Yeah, n***a, Street Flavor 4-4-3-3-0-6-9-7-6-2, n***a, we do what we gotta do Ratchet Rush, n***a Don Don, what's up Goon Squad Hooligan...