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rome streetz - serving lyrics

[intro: rome streetz]
you know what the f+ck it is, n+gga

[verse 1: rome streetz]
ayo, you bums minor, never major league (nah)
f+ck my p.o., f+ck the judge, f+ck the d.a., f+ck the agency (f+ck y’all)
started off with an eighth and e, small paper, now we racing amg’s (skrrt)
all you n+ggas washed up, to say the least
plug mirrored work, i’d never wait a week (nah)
we ain’t work with scales? been the way i eat
scamming in the bank, fake state id
watch what you post on the internet, jake follow with a fake ig
my n+ggas real right, double r (brrat)
nothing lucky, had to hustle hard (nah)
cooking work up in the smoker jar
nah, you could never ever f+ck with ours (never)
we push foreign cars through the fog, been a don, louis on, that’s virgil sh+t
sold acid, weed, molly, percocet
flygod told me murder this (brra, bah)
been merciless
quarter brick cost 10 bands for a verse of this
did the money dance, in the junkie’s hand, dropped 20 xans, i been servin’ sh+t
motherf+cker
(f+ck outta here)
[bridge: skit]
the first time you try it, you don’t like it
it ain’t nothing to like, it’s something to be scared of

[verse 2: boldy james]
junkie fell through, stolen car radio, flat screen and a twelve speed
grew up servin’ pops, hover rocks to the crack fiends, i don’t sell weed (i don’t)
now we pullin’ up in v12 v’s with louis chucks with the lv’s (yeah)
finna floor the pedal, ice water bezel, in the urus truck with the f and e
me and flygod, big pole on me, that’s a tied rod
chalk white coupe. 4g’s off set, but the dope whiter than an ipod
union sb’s (it’s on me)
sky dweller’s face playing peek+a+boo
undefeated on my left sleeve (yeah)
water whippin’ like a jet+ski
brand new soil and an xd (uh huh)
cop a crash for an undomesticate, task force tryna run a crash course
got the whole one, kinda zesty
dropping glass, harder than some plexy
still spinin’ with the lefty (spin)
shooters on deck, shorty don’t threat
slidin’ tinted up, n+ggas ridin’ hotties while the strikers come with a red key (brrr)
counting paper like a spreadsheet (beep)
dodging raiders when the feds sweep (aye)
plottin’ capers? now he dead meat (aye)
bone rushers speak for them parakeets (them birds)
wrap his body up in the bed sheets
still in the field like a pair of cleats
stepped on the brick with two left feet
quick to leave a n+gga like a dead+beat
where we at with it? (it’s the jack god)
[outro: skit]
you see the stuff, we’ll call you
it’ll let you walk away from it, but it’s always call you back

- rome streetz lyrics

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