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Correct Cocaine Trafficking Lyrics
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Artists: G
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Ghostface Killah
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Correct Cocaine Trafficking
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(feat. Trife Da God) [Intro:] Yeah Agent Burke here (Check this shit out, nigga, I got a bust for you Some major niggaz from New York, slinging rocks over here, majorly) Where they at? Get that gun, where them matches at, come on! [Ghostface Killah] Cocaine trafficking, your boy's back again Moving bricks like I got a degree in scaffolding Fucking with some cats from Newark, half of them Jewish Cool white boys riding around, blasting my music And I'm taxin' them like Jackson-Hewitt, make sure them packs is moving We out in Baltimore, the home of the Bruins Up top the cops raiding my spot, my product got ruined Drug case pending, but my lawyer is suing Cuz them faggots put my arm in a tussle, let me start in the scuffle Son, they tried to put the God in a duffle But them boys can't knock the hustle, like Hov' said We expose fed, nigga, just give me the code red They say a close mouth don't get fed, well that's a lie Cuz them faggots who be snitching on niggaz, they sure to die You don't want to wake up, with your seed in a cradle missing Sweating bullets hearing wheels peel off from Mercedes engines [Chorus 2X: Trife Da God] Aiyo, these blocks ain't big enough for all of us to eat These corners is mines, so evil bow down or go to sleep It's like jail, in order to live, you gotta earn your keep Prepare for the shakedown, new law and order on the street [Trife Da God] Yeah I write raps, but I sling crack for a living Punk, anywhere, I ain't gotta ask for permission Trife Dies', know the fiends can't miss him Everyday on the shift, like transmission, making them transitions From New York to Great Britain, up state to San Quinton Every corner, every block, from Broad Street to Van Sithlin The grand picture, haul ass when them vans blitz in Watch for police, the word on the street is your man's snitching I'm rider like Pac, ain't no stopping my ambitions Getting money, twenty four seven, bredren, my hand's itching Got me looking through the eye of the scope, and real killas move smooth With a quiet approach, silencers on the tools when they fire the toast And if you ain't dead or in jail, then why the hell you crying you broke I tell a bitch, let me slide in your throat And have her gnawning on my head like she high off of dope, get it? Good [Chorus 2X] [Outro: Trife Da God] Uh, uh, uh, uh Theodore, nigga..
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