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chris king - a corner store in la freestyle (episode #94) lyrics

i’m from california motherf+cker, you know, the sunny south side
i went to johnny dang in houston, texas, bust my mouth wide
d+mn, it seems the information made for a g was inaccurate
beam with attachments, puffing weed all day made me [?]
calculate, streets is a battlefield, that is true, there are graves
on every avenue, meanwhile the higher ups continue to laugh at you
beat the man, poison him, k!ll each other, man that will do
but i ball hard like a creative player with the extra attributes
drill thе whole scene and chop thе trap down when i’m passing through
had to call off when i’m rolling up chevron, n+gga who’s gassing you
they saying that you next up n+gga, i’m like i’m next to you
had to [?], had to give her the molly water but don’t overdo it
d+mn right, nothing behind the back, keep your hands in sight
puffing on this d+mn flight, got me missing my d+mn flight
said he want a hook or a verse, he’s a couple of bands light
pouring up deuces of fanta, all we had was canned sprite
high off the map, my lips dry off the yak
i gave ’em something n+gga’ll feel since they blind to the fact
you cuff ho’s like a cop or sell cheap flight like its hopper
headshot, hit a b+tch head quicker than estée lauder, uh
how much codeine can one man fit in a beverage?
they tryna sign me but [?] my catalog with a leverage
f+ck it with the trigger and paper, man that sh+t is a fetisher
labels think i’m stupid but god knows, like a septum
we overtune her, move dope to the dope consumers
moving boulders, moving weight, that’s the size of your [?]
mission impossible looking like possibly
what type of n+gga are you, [?] people told me that he’s congolese, uh
addicted to smoke with no nicotine, off the top like a guillotine
drop grenades, we’re grilling beans, move his body to splithereens
wait, blow his body, blow his body
uh, uh, wait, blow his body, wait wait uh
blow his body to smithereens, n+ggas ain’t feeling me
cut off his hands n+gga, naw n+gga like literally
1017 on these jeans with the gucci la flare like ’03
they not balabasas, calabasas where she know me from
i’m smoking ’til i’m slowing dumb, ’til i’m slowing dumb
pouring ’til i’m slowing dumb, n+gga yeah i’m going dumb (uh)
wanna see a show like who’s [?] now
who’s smoking like we cooking out
pass blunt like too straight forward
hunnid dollar bills screaming like cool n+gga that’s good but make more for us
snotty nose, 14 ever since there was four of us
and all these ho’s is boring to us
they not important to us, pull up in foreigner trucks
we go to london and we is the foreigners bruh
uh, we at the corner store
dropping bodies off, what is the coroner for, yeah

- chris king lyrics

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