Rick Rock - k** Street Blues lyrics

Chorus: Cooking up yae in the pure form of a rock (rock) This is how we clock (clock), stroll up on my block (this is k** street blues) Three in the morning po-po at my door I'm wonderin' if really po-po at my door This is k** street blues (Alternate 3 & 4)repeat 4X Verse 1: Sit your 5 dollar a** down n***a 'fore a chief baller make change Cookin' up yae-yo at 3 in the mornin' Choppin' up game sackin' up caine Fetty was layin' all over the floor I guess you cold say that I was slippin' As the door kick in I stick in my clip and begin the dippin' Up on these so called po-po But I know it can't be nuthin' but some n***as Runnin' up in ski masks So I continue to curse and blast that a**es out Tryin' to gaffle the scratch my gat consumes Just then my k**a partner steps outta the bathroom Uzi's and Mack thangs start lettin' off n***as catchin' slugs to the face Baking soda some n***as brains c**aine all over the place Took a dive behind the coach Heard a n***a say "We gonn' k** you" My 2 twin gats start talkin' to me said "f** them n***as I feel you" So I bail up outta the cut Tryin' ta take lives with no remorse Lookin' like a scene with Laurence Fishborne in "The King of New York" Now it's 3 o'clock in the morning And I still don't snooze Cause through my life n***as be given me all these k** street blues Chorus: Verse 2: 1 n***a died high Face down in uncut yae I stuck my finger up in the hole in his body, told him have a nice day My homie said "the real feds is comin'" Said he was hit I pull the bloody corpse off his body, he told me get the sh** Ran to the kitchen Hopin' over the deceased Gotta get the rocks money and powder, and evade the police Put the fetty up in my hand Gotta be quick, gotta be nimble Look to my left seen 3 federalles' cars in the window Now it's time for me and my homie To mob the f** on out As we mob up outta there 3 federalles mob in the house Can't say nuthin' about them other n***as Them haters is out there dead Couple a slugs up in they head, with a house full of feds And ain't no time to be stickin' around I'm hearin' them ambulances and h*mocides I'm ready to bail outta the scene and flee up in this "G" ride I'm thinkin' my homie heart stopped n***a dyin' on me Partner dropped down to the ground That's when them po-po started firing on me Chorus: Threw the caine down got to mobbin' off As the po-po yelled out freeze (freeze) Lost a down a** homie and the yae-yo man But f** it I'mma keep the cheese (cheese) My partners eyes wide open n***a layin' there one breath too short (short) But each time ya n***a Spice 1 hit the corner In a big white cloud of smoke (smoke) Federalles on my bumper baby Fittin' ta show 'em I ain't no punk (punk) Use the right hand to do the drivin' thang And the left hand ready to dump (dump) Led 'em on a high speed chase For about 30 minutes or a little bit more Got a triple thang murder up under my belt 'Bout 60 thousand ta doe (doe) Ohhh nooo Heard a slg hit my back tire Then I spun around Runnin' into the side while tearin' all sh** down b**hes was screamin' n***as was cussin' Po-Po bustin' at me (punk a** n***a) Run into the liquor store Knowin' they'll never catch me But soon as I'm thinkin' of makin' my getaway Ain't this a b**h Some fedy with a 12 gauge Put the barrel fight up to my sh** (stay right there n***a) Pull out the money and all of a sudden I hit the floor Looked up and see the barrel of Sgt. Kicka**' 4-4 Chorus: 2X