Trae Tha Truth - I Am The Streets lyrics

Fire! [Verse 1 - Rick Ross] Riding in a cab but I'm dreaming of a slab Cooking ounces at a time, p**y n***a do the math Ten ice chains, Prince like James The day I made a stack in the trap, my life changed Y'all ride swangers, we ride Daytons It don't matter where you from, haters stay hating Keep the windows tinted, artillery when I'm in it Whip it in the kitchen before Hillary became a Clinton a**holes by nature, cash flow was major In the old school, or M codes and fragers Started with a crumb, but turned it to a brick They were calling me a bum, my turn, I'm the sh** Razor flipped things, age of fifteen Got a Chevy in that thing, blades like Chris Creams Rose on the wrist, when the shows ain't exist Now my money long enough to put the fours on a six Boss [Chorus - Lloyd] From the depths of the sea to the stars in the sky I'ma be a hustler till I die Sixty in the clip in case enough pride But all them haters want to try So shorty what you smoking on? Marijuana's what I'm choking on I don't care if you call me crazy But street n***as getting mullah baby [Verse 2 - Trae tha Truth] I'm still located in the gutter, fresh set of fours Watching haters out a foreign, chopper on the floor Pillowcases full of money, still ain't got no place to go So I evacuate the safe, hit the hood and let it blow You thinking I ain't the king of my section, n***a you way off My hustle make the k**er amazing like it's the playoffs In the hood for real, these corners I never stay off Satin black Camaro, the Challenger till the day off Picture that I remember of having visions of getting paid Now I sit on something suede or in something that's getting sprayed I'm in that field with the trap around the third eye This the National Hood Geographics, call it bird watching I'm this jungle rocking cinematic stones Interstate, but the bread talking money so long p**y n***as mad because I'm getting my money on Who else you know got out the hood and put half the city on? [Chorus] [Bridge - Lloyd] My name Young Lloyd, yeah you know what I'm on Many girls are laid in my Styrofoam And I'm in the H-Town, so don't play around Or my n***a Trae tha Truth going to lay you down Rick Ross be the boss in the Phantom and all Got round the clock rocks, spring, winter, and fall Some of y'all might call me crazy But street n***as getting mullah baby [Verse 3 - The Game] I'm a natural born a**hole, is you? Yeah, why? Because it's do or die when them choppers in the air I see clear as Belvedere, you haters know this my year Paid no attention to y'all, I'm still thinking about Shakur Having suicidal thoughts in this Phantom, it's a b**h ain't it? Paid a half a million for this motherf**er, then paint it Chinchilla floor mats, that's beyond paper Me and Trae flying through Houston like Von Wafer You n***as ain't balling, you T-Mack, you stay hurt I order more Pequa, got more rocks than a Jay verse I used to sell pounds, watch 'Mash', and weigh work Got shot and woke up out a coma, could've been way worse But now I'm living for my n***as Locked deep down in the prison hole, with no vision When I drop the top, I do it for you So close your eyes and let the sun shine through Yeah [Chorus]