Lyrics Jim Jones – Eastside
Text:
Dave East:
Capo I got these niggas
Harlem you know how that go
Eastside
Revenge is only natural, time to get even
We pick and roll, winter cold time to switch seasons
Trip to Belize, 100 keys’ll leave your kids bleeding
Balmain sweatsuit, tryna hide it, the grip peaking
Came from a hole in the wall, crack in the concrete
I want Giuseppes, not no LeBron sneaks, my palms read
Cash in my future days, thinking about my past life
Model bitch’ll blow me like a bagpipe
19 they said I was a criminal, I just didn’t get caught yet
Think I got a warrant out cause I ain’t been to court yet
30 bricks’ll have you paranoid just like raw sex
Used to do Gore-Tex, come to Harlem, we all fresh
Capo told me these niggas is in denial
Forgot what river we left his body, think it’s the Nile
Tom Ford flight jacket, prices ain’t coming down
Cook and smoke on them trips, turnpike with a couple pounds
Jim Jones & Dave East:
Chill, chill, chill, you making it hot
My whole block got indicted, they just raided the spot
I just woke up in the kitchen, I was scraping the pot
I got it from my plug and took it straight to the block
Chill, I heard they confiscated the trap
They said the feds was on his ass when he was making a trap
They gave the nigga 10, I hope he make it up top
They said the nigga turned Muslim, now he making salat, chill
Jim Jones:
Cross ?
where the fiends play
Uptown, Rucker park, I seen Kareem play
I’m talking Big’s verse one is where I seen Jay
The Lord knows he put me where Rich Porter at
I sold drugs from as far as where Florida at
And when the coke was bad I still brought it back
I had the fiends losing weight just like a ?
L’s copped the white Spur that I just bought in black
I took the rental down south, I never brought it back
I’m calling plays in the field like a quarterback
The feds setting up a blitz but I sold the trap
In Harlem in foreigns I still ride blunted
The ?
was that I lost, that was 500
I stayed fresh, I keep the hammer between
The belt with the jacket, Alexander McQueen
I’m hopping out the back but they handle is mean
I used to dribble but I still gotta handle this mean
Shit, give me a stove, show me a pot, let me work
Bitch I’m not a preacher but Lord knows this is church
Jim Jones & Dave East:
Chill, chill, chill, you making it hot
My whole block got indicted, they just raided the spot
I just woke up in the kitchen, I was scraping the pot
I got it from my plug and took it straight to the block
Chill, I heard they confiscated the trap
They said the feds was on his ass when he was making a trap
They gave the nigga 10, I hope he make it up top
They said the nigga turned Muslim, now he making salat, chill
Outro:
Step 5. We admit it to our higher power, to ourselves, and to another human being, the exact nature of our wrongs
Crack, crack, everywhere you go, crack, you don’t hear no dope hardly. You don’t hear no coke anymore hardly the only thing you hear, crack-crack
