Drug Lords

1,2

Straight Up

(La Música de Harry Fraud)

[Chorus: Meyhem Lauren)

Catch us on stage looking like drug lords

Pen paragraphs for all my niggas that sling swords

Whips, chain seasonal, roofs get removed

Bitches baggin bundles new, our vocals getting EQ

Live nigga rap, real talk that’s us (us)

Cashmere everything, gats that bust (bust)

Outdoors, break laws, the streets we trust

Make noise, never talk to the boys, let em discuss

[Verse 1: AG Da Coroner]

Call the doctor, lay you where you eat your pasta

With big choppers, from the rastas in the helicopter

Video games, we don’t play

PS3 rappers get broken in broad day

Right on Myrtle and Broadway

Run up in the (booby?/movie?) spot and hit em where they all stay

Family ties, reason why your family cries

While a nigga shorty wop with vanity eyes

We the stars of our own movies

Sly Stallone couldn’t move me

Feet up on the sofa rolling a doobie

I walk with the strength of ten million hood niggas

Who like to cause ruckus and love to pull triggers

Habitual line steppers always trying to undercut

Name on a dotted line, reserve the right to fuck you up

I’m Kobe with the rock, you a 4th quarter Lebron nigga, ready to slop

[Verse 2: Meyhem Lauren]

Back to that other shit, listing like a wet seal

Work phone ringing, fiends looking for a fresh deal

Blind stances turn the mind trances

Shorty’s flat footed but her nose does line dances

I love that intricate thug rap, supply it often

They tried to clip my wings I’ll never be retired flossing

Sipping silent, thinking violent, call it quiet saucing

The jewels I’ve picked up over years is an acquired fortune

Been burning shit consecutive, we never tire torchin’

Your reputation has no juice, me I'm admired often

Bitches wanna smoke, we give them floral rinses

That pass they mouth around and turn them to a oral princess

It’s just the way we move, welcome to NY

Meisterstück, in the coop, nigga my pen fly

?Snake sour? shower your whip, if it’s a time of war

We use to grind with raw, hustlin' in the fine velour

[Verse 3: Action Bronson]

Couple dollars in a fiend (cheese) pocket

Scurry to the side of the building to cop it

Scurry back to the lobby to rock it

I’m talking white Olivia Dukakis, Joan Cusack

Suede shoe, blue coupe roof back

(Ayo the cops comin) Boof that

Then break it down so you can toot-toot-a-loot that

Straight from Queens, loafer to the pedal

Steaks are medium rare, hosted for the metal (medal?)

I’m getting closer with the Devil

I won’t stop til there’s an ocean on the bezel

Sand art in my weed jar

Did a backflip right into the window of the green car

Then I peel like an orange, leather outfits Martin Lawrence

Three prongs on the pasta fork, spin the bucatini

Doo doo stains in the joint

It’s me

[Hook]