TIRED

East Brooklyn 1995, Nigga, they never seen it. Up the trees, stash they blow, that gun, Don't miss my bitch. Every time I see her like I'm gonna take Another stab. Pulling in my back of the whip Like a million. Seven days a week, Nigga, we will that something going. Put your name on the record, Put your name Something, Don't you know? Got the stack of Jordan's, so let me take The photo. Gotta love my niggas, making that dough. Wanna smoke some slow? Take my try to hate us. Don't you sniff it, nowadays if your hands up, Get up out that face. Put it on me all day they my hoes. Every other week, that's the price you pay. Wanna supply all these inside streets. Broken legs, niggas throwing up, hiding behind the Tears. Niggas call, the victim turn around. Bitch on you while we doing all this hiding. But the better player play it out. Crazy how we talking, hear me? Seven days, That's the Hate. Leave your bitch that pussy lame. Money, fame, no one else ain't gonna Take me on playing with that ho. Mr. Becky, Stecky, we take you to the me. You rolling 'til someone fails to set. Niggas haters, pissing, sweating, Trying to keep they pockets fat. Picture me, yeah, you see it happening. That's the world we niggas talking, See but let me pass It Out. Every Time, No more hiding your somewhere lonely. Put the flowing. Made city. Now niggas them