Boss Freestyle

Free my nigga lil

BH

I fell in love with the streets, yeah I was 16 (youngin)

Grinding like Clipse, tryna get cream (let's get it)

A little nigga in the field, was doing big things

Big hammers, big work, and had a big team

It was popping round the time we had it in green

Yeah we was dirty, narcs tryna sweep the strip clean

Plus we had that white girl, you know, that Christine

Aculera, that should dare her, make a rich fiend

Go broke tryna fix dreams

Watching niggas cook the coke it looked like whipped cream

And I was tryna get cake (I was hungry)

My old head would tell me just wait

But I was crooked, tryna get straight

The hundreds with the big face

The money made me feel great

Like Tony the Tiger, when he get flakes

Talking the frosted ones

My heart was so cold had to defrost my lungs

Getting high, was paranoid and going hard with guns

Ready to squeeze on any nigga with ease

Nightmares of being murdered I believed

How the judge gon blame me

Cause when them niggas come to kill me nobody gon save me

Label me a felon 'fore you label me as telling

Upstate jail and tuna soup and getting melon

Tell em, was raining yesterday but now it's hailing

It's death up in the air, you can smell it

Man they got the reaper round the corner tryna catch a body

The hungry youngins up the street they tryna catch somebody

Slipping, they got their smith and they gon stretch some bodies

If they don't get paid, somebody gon get sprayed

And one love to my niggas in the twist cage

No commissary chow without the lid tray

Guard spit in it, but you can feel your rib cage

Touch it so you're like fuck I got to live today

You niggas fucking with them hoes, I'm fucking with them Benjis

I be cutting up them O's, fucking with that stove

That shit you made last week, I fucked it up on clothes

Spend half of that on Prada and the other half on dros

Woah! (woah Meek Milly!)

I said nigga do you, Imma do me

That haze it got him in the zone like a 23

Them niggas need a smoke, we got that oohwee

Purp by the pound, ounces of the sour D

We 32'd the Glizzy's, compact to max

Sliding through they hood, tinted down, back to back

Looking for these pussys, now where these faggots at

Skis, dickies, and hoodies show where they trapping at

Murder murder graveyard, funeral service for em

Embalming fluid, obituary and hearses for em

That choppa do him, his mama mourning and hurting for him

We collect bosses, they flunkies, whoever working for em

Yeah, Meek motherfucking Milly

You niggas know what it is

BH we straight to the motherfucking day that I die nigga

Free my nigga lil

GT franchise we got the game on motherfucking lock

And if you think you fucking with me nigga, hit that stu' hard

And get your fucking game right

Plain and simple

Boss