Street Cred

[Intro] (Antt Did the Track) What up, gang? Yeah [Verse 1] Been trying to keep my promise to put all my niggas on I'm tired of being modest, been humble for too long Gotta make competition, tryna keep up with the Jones While niggas like me, I'm just tryna keep up with the phones Flat Rock to Hamtramck, serving in a foreign Slapboxing, still jamming, 30 A.M AMG Benz, double parked it on the corner Matchbox and bills, had to serve just to pay rent Birdbathing, different socks and drawls with the same shirt Counted out three hundred but was all in a days work Can't perk, niggas mad at Blocks 'cause they ain't turnt Drumroll on the fully, bump into a bullet face first Aces wild out the deck 'til I pull a joker And snatch thе chain from around your neck, book him for his choker Bloodclaat told me to smokе it over He said "You must ain't ever had your mugshot on a wanted poster" Fed bound with a open folder These niggas tried to press the button on me so I kept that 'mote controller [Chorus] Shit so poetic when I spit it, it's like spoken word Real Concreature, teacher had to grade me on the curb Now they label me "Kingpin" for standing on my word We used to piece up, chip in and ante on the bird Shedded tattoo tears, I know you overheard Throughout the years this street shit been working on my nerves It's gang time, 227, niggas know the verdict I'm done giving niggas credit that they don't deserve [Verse 2] (Niggas finished) All these overs and these extras, ghetto Steven Spielberg Cut another edit, stunt double coming up on the exit Behind the scenes with this movie clip, don't make me run the credits A lot of action, you are now rocking with the Jackson Been catchin' possum downtown like I'm Johnny Paxson For my day ones, I'm quick to let that chopper stutter Ayy Young, shit, that's like my big adopted brother Fuck a pussy, go and tell me what I done done If that nigga plug can't sell me what I done slung All of the money to the family that I done brung Real gritter, still can post on Bellevue without a gun That's the least of niggas' worries when you from the trenches How many niggas from your hood you know that touched a ticket? Ain't gotta lie on my supply, ain't gotta front to kick it Ghetto Olympics, from the hook I was jumpin' pickets [Chorus] Shit so poetic when I spit it, it's like spoken word Real Concreature, teacher had to grade me on the curb Now they label me "Kingpin" for standing on my word We used to piece up, chip in and ante on the bird Shedded tattoo tears, I know you overheard Throughout the years this street shit been working on my nerves It's gang time, 227, niggas know the verdict I'm done giving niggas credit that they don't deserve [Outro] Niggas ain't putting no work in for this shit I had to grit this shit out Yeah, nigga What else?