Lyrics Troy Ave – Cuffin Season (Keymix)
Text:
My dough keep flippin when I’m lookin up (6 O’s)
She know it’s no kissin, take the dick and fuck
Ya’ll keep slippin, we be grippin up
We don’t get to diss em, we just hit em up
BSB records, we the new shit
It’s Troy Ave case you wondering who this
Real nigga from the streets, we are not the same
Either pussy or some paper when my phone ring
Hoes keep calling I ain’t picking up
Labels keep calling, I need bigger bucks
Get a mill, hit me on the walkie
Til then all my mills off then forget the talkin
White Empire State throwin dice
Married to the game, no ring, just ice
Cool young nigga, neck full of freezer
Furs to the floor, no respect for the PETA
Girls only fuck so respectin the peda
Short stop baby, gotta call Derek Jeter
I 2 can put it on for the city
You ain’t heard a niggs buzzin this big since 50
Get riches, die tryin, use iron when I’m thievin
Niggas know I will, son, I don’t play for Phoenix
36 a bird, what you payin for my CDs
Get a extra quarterback, both 100 grams sold
All work pays nigga,
All my homies eatin nigga, fuckin X and Tre nigga
I came for the money, you can keep the fame
In the street niggas funny, I’m in the streets with J
Why you at All Star weekend like a bitch with no panties?
Why you goin to LA when you ain’t offered no Grammy
And I don’t’ like them niggas, and I don’t like nobody like em
Hear these red nose go with they phonies again
Wanna stand in my section, let the hoes get in
Outside lookin like a welfare line
Cus word of mouth say I really live my rhymes
They came to feel the energy, it’s something that’s true
And the bitches jump fuckin, make me they boo
Who? Who? Cry me a river, tears of joy
I brought New York City back, young boy Troy muthafuckas
Came here to thank me later
But if you don’t thank me then we know you a hater
Sucka
I’m the reason
I’m the reason why the city is even respected again
What we even talkin bout?
Fuck outta here mane
You see these truck ass niggas
Real deal, Holyfield right here
I look and sound like New York, right now it’s real hard to find
We ain’t surfin no waves
We are the wave, believe me
BSB Records
I come through how I do
With the classic feel so you know that it’s real
The fuck going on mane?
These other niggas jump, man what’s goin on?
Imposters
These is rasta pasta
I sound like the subway
I sound like the brand new Benz merkin off on the streets hittin a pothole
I sound like going to the corner store at 4 in the morning for a fuckin dutch
I don’t sound like no bouncy turn up
It’s dream club, get the fuck outta here, bullshit mane
Troy Ave
BSB Records
Countin money, let me turn the mic up so you can hear it
This is money
Yea, I’m getting that nigga
I get it off the ground
Niggas ain’t neva took chips out of 10
Cobaine tell these niggas
This rap shit is easy nigga
Kid you ain’t neva had the butterflies in yo stomach
When a flash of light pullin up
While you in the F150
On yo way to CT
With a bird and a half allegedly
You don’t know what, you ain’t here before mane
Motherfuckin 750 grams each
In the lining of the sweat suits sittin near the stomach
Like how you tolt the hamme
We had, we had it there
You hold this part, you hold that part
Because in our head we thinkin
We heard some with that
If you got less than a brick then you get less time
So we both got 7 50 and we get caught then we getting less time
These niggas ain’t the real deal Holyfield mane
Troy Ave nigga
I don’t know bout that other shit
I represent what New York is about
I represent the streets, I represent being fly
I represent getting money
I’m charismatic like a motherfucker
The bitches love me
And my name’s solid gold
Powder!
