Lyrics City Morgue – Nan

Pull up on the block, you just park by it (Skrr)
Nigga get stashed in the car tire
Feds get the iPhone calls wired
Sellin’ bricks, you a little 8 ball buyer (Work)
Fiends took a week cause they bid higher (Work)
OD on the coke like Len Bias
Look, I hit the kitchen stove up, with the bakin’ soda (Fish scale)
Dip into the oil, let it boil, can’t take the odor
Treat your block, like a firin’ range, when I spray the Cobra (Blaow!)
Kick back, from the click clack, might break a shoulder (Blaow)
Pussy nigga, pistol more important, no report card (Fuck outta here)
Big gun, stash box, nigga, in a sports car (Graah)
Niggas getting shot, miss a lot, pray to Allah
Bad bitch, she gon’ fuck a nigga, like a pornstar (Slide!)

ZillaKami:
Bitch I mix loud with the mid
Givin’ treats to all my pits (Okay)
And I’m swingin’ for the feds
Bloody mouth, you need a rinse (Wassup)
Get yo’ block turnt, mom hurt, talk to yo’ sponsor (Okay)
With them choppers, his side hurts
All in your spine bitch (Okay, okay, okay)
Nigga said he real cause they offer eight pills (Huh?)
Trauma to your man, I ain’t like him, they ain’t real (Huh?)
Bitch, you not from these parts you get killed (Okay)
Bitch, you not from these parts, you get killed (Okay)

Nah, nan nigga really want war with the gang (No no no no no)
Nah, nan nigga really gonna talk in my face (No no no no)
Nah, nan nigga really uppin’ drums and shit (No no no no no)
Except the Morgue, and that’s about it (Chee)