Trae Tha Truth - Da Cops lyrics

(feat. Trae) [talking] Thank you thank you very much Now it's back to the block, holla You know, we from the hood right We use to running from the cops, let's go [Hook] Hold up shhh wait, I think I hear the cops Whoa, it's time to close down shop Hold up shhh wait, I think I hear the cops You hear them tires, when the block get hot [Lil' Flip] I'm straight off the plane, on my way to the block Instead of a Matchbox, I got a neck full of rocks A gold Bentley watch, with three karats on top You know I got eight clovers, with three in the shop n***a I'm straight from the gutter, too fresh to stutter In my hood you rap, play ball or hustle And if you living with your mother, and you over 18 That's a god damn shame, if you know what I mean I'm still down with Will-Lean, cause he kept it one hundred That's why, he got a welcome back piece on his stomach My chinchilla been iller, cause I cut the sleeves And most n***as get X'd out, because of greed I'm top five dead or alive, I need my props Left Miami in my plane, I had to leave my yacht And I try my best, to figure y'all people out But n***as hate it cause I made it, and I'm sitting on top I use to run from the cops, four years ago A hardheaded young kid, stealing vehicles My best friend got shot, and my uncle got popped The FEDs caught his a**, coming out of Little Rock I pack a lil' Glock, a deuce-deuce in my socks When y'all gon realize, I got the streets on lock And my new Caprice drop, plus I got a L-Dog n***a this is how I'm living, I ain't gotta tell y'all I'm about my mail dog, they told me I would fail y'all I'm a hustler, I ain't gotta use a f**ing scale dog I'm about my mail y'all, they told me I would fail y'all I'm a hustler, I ain't gotta use a f**ing scale dog [Hook] [Lil' Flip] n***as respect me in my hood, cause I don't kiss no a** I got my license for my gun, cause I ain't miss no cla** Brr-ack now get back, before this 4-5 kick back What happened to that tough talk, where your click at I be in Harlem, with Jim and Cam Or you can catch me in the Bronx, with Macho hoe Or Fat Joe prick, you know I roll with them guards We take n***as off the streets, and give 'em jobs And most rappers play hard, until they take a bullet Anybody can get shot, it take a man to pull it So what you proving, not a god damn thang I peep your game, you just want fame off my name But your plan back fired, cause I run the streets We the new N.W.A. man, f** the police You better listen close n***a, cause I made this beat I just sh**ted on you n***as, cause I ate the beef Get it, a fresh fitted with a bu*ton up shirt I just add a little water, to fluffen my work I got love for the streets, and they love me back Cause everytime I get back, we all go get tats And we all getting fat, cause I share the wealth And I got the number one album, on the shelf And we all getting fat, cause I share the wealth I got the number one album, on the f**ing shelf [Hook] [Z-Ro] 24 hours a day, the po-po's pa** me They know I'm legit, but I know they would love to hara** me Cause I'm young and I'm having thangs, and they don't like that Especially when they see me rolling, in platinum Cadillacs Or that Intrepid on 83's, with music in back of that When I'm drug dealing I hit the hood, and transact in the back of that But I be peeping over my shoulders, and watching my back Cause now police will ride in bicycles in the hood, hide the strap homie And you can't ride, if you got pockets full of crack homie I'm not capping, but I don't play with my freedom like that homie You know the word cop, mean Coward On Patrol Back in school they were the ones that never fought back, they ran and told Now they got the right, to pack a pistol and sh** That's why they pull up on the block, f**ing with n***as and sh** I even had to tint my windows, cause they kept on trying to peep in I know they'd love to catch me smoking, and lock me up for the weekend [Trae] I guess they figured they could do us, but now we got problems My n***as specialize in murders, where it ain't no solving Equipped with the gat away sk**s, from posting up on the block Where these fiends be all around you, like roaches up on the block Never protecting but they serve, collecting they change From marijuana to X pills, drank hard to caine But still they incarcerate, my n***as for half a dollar And these snitches working with em, so I ain't got time to holler Ain't no talking on my phone, unless you in A.B.N Other than that you got the wrong number, cause I don't know no friends But anyway what's the bidness, you riding behind a G s** my dick and get to worsing and slice the f** off of me [Hook]