In Memory Of

[Intro]

Statik Selektah

[Verse 1: T.F]

That’s the last he heard 'fore he hit the curb

Bounced out, then we dipped and swerved back to the 'burbs

The honeycomb where we sealing up bows

But I still might mask up and go and steal me a loan

The other day, I gave my mama a dub

I came a long way from court dates shackled, couldn’t give mama a hug

Got my Pradas in the mud, I’m proud of my slums

This that Statik and Bun, featuring my gun

Gunshots, let him live for a minute

She gotta suck it on the spot, I’m only here for a minute

Yeah, I pull up off a robbery, uh

Do about thirty on mеrch and kept it independеnt

Bad news, you killed the messenger

So don’t come talkin no bullshit and fuck your blessings up

Look, better come talkin 'bout a check or something

Blood splatter on the money, look like Franklin got some freckles on him

[Verse 2: Bun B]

Listen here bitch, I’m the one but see I’m not the one

Come sideways out the mouth, you done with or without the gun

You thought you had it out for Bun, I had it out for you

Without a clue since you got no idea what I’m bout to do

You talk a good one nigga, so do a parakeet

Keep carrying on, you know I’m carrying that pair of heat

One for that light work and one for the heavy

So I can put one through your jacket and a few through your Chevy

Let me tell you bout that trill shit, listen and learn it

Where you just can’t say you a gangsta, bitch, you gotta earn it

You better be a gladiator or at least be a goon bro

'Fore you be a face on a shirt they blow up a balloon for

You know I’m from the ghetto, ho, so don’t put it past me

Have your homies speechless, looking for some help like he Lassie

Better be up out the building ‘fore I finish my drink

Or I'ma put your ass to sleep before you finish a blink, bitch

[Verse 3: Cal Wayne]

Yo, the struggle never bothered me, nowhere near where I oughta be

Dope boy fraternities and hood rat sororities

Gunshots make it hard to sleep, no respect for authority

A four-time loser, it’s a blessing I still walk the streets

I remember washing the clothes up in the dish detergent

Record label scared to sign me, the plug won’t even serve me

My partner lost his trial, my partner died in surgery

And I be clutching all the time 'cause people make me nervous

They purging where I’m from, it’s a switch up on that drum

Shots fired, Houston, Southside, five dollars’ll get you slumped

No captains in my lap, the speakers hogging up the trunk

Pouring punch and smoking Runts, diamonds in my gold fronts

And the trap phone, I turned to the Astro, home run

And I’m from Houston, Texas where it’s hotter than the sun

Say homie, fuck a ID, hope you got yourself a gun

I’m mixed with a little Scarface, some J. Prince and Bun

I’m really lit, said ima get rich or die, I ain’t have fifty cent

For the bread I get ignorant, plenty sense but I’m with the shit

Ain’t hard to see that I’m a Third Ward diehard

Twenty on the Cuban link, in memory of George Floyd (Ghetto)

Huh