Crack Spot Stories Lyrics - Wu-block [deluxe Edition] - Wu-block

Henny bottles everywhere, smelling like 'yac 

Bagging crack, sitting in the kitchen, wearing my mask 

Robe on, tailored made in Italy, new Gucci denim 

One slipper on, Brookstone, cushion 

In the barn, number seven, hugging my neck, yo, Kiss, yo, Rae 

Tell that yellow bitch I got next 

She fucking with robbers, don't wanna hear 

Her pussy sore like Tasha's, this is Starkers 

Crumbs hitting the floor, fiends clicking they big lighters 

With Garfield eyeballs, pulling them all nighters 

Give me fifty push ups, give ya'll a little piece 

Faggots did a dime, niggas too weak 

For fun, shove a Suzy Q in they face 

Let 'em smoke a rock with cake on they head in the gate 

He might die with a stem on him 

Who give a fuck, I'm the reigns, hate on him 

Crack spot stories, he put a kilo in the pan 

I was about to break his hand until it came back tan 

He dancing around the stove, Starks chilling in his rob 

My hard knock life, I could of wrote that for Hov' 

Shorty, give me a ginger ale and dutch masters 

Matter fact, hand me the phone I'm bout to order Casper's 

Fiends at the door, I'm too lazy to let 'em in 

Turkey sandwich, barbecue chips, ESPN 

Sitting on the couch, I'm just trynna do the match 

She got ten polo shirts, all she asking for is half 

Today was a good day, no one got shot 

No police or none of that, that's how it is in our spot, yeah 

Pyrex boys fronting in Rolls Royce's 

I'm on the iPhone, leg back, examining choices 

Two types of coke, we in the bathroom, voting 

We like 'take it', helicopter waiting, we boating, yo 

Gangstas to the death of it, humbling villains 

A good hand chemist in twenty minutes, cake up and finish 

This for the hallways, the long days, me and my whore, bagging up 

Shorty more razors and bring out the four aces 

Sit back, laughing with a stack and a clapper 

She spray up everything, we paying Pataki 

Drug house with no work there, the worst fear is never the thirst, yea 

But set up for to the first of the thirty first, disperse, yeah 

Beef, what, bring me a burger, ya 

The flame broilers jump out, one to your first beer 

So take that, over there 

Everything, everything, just stay out of max clear 

We got the trays up in 6E, that's usually where the God be 

Me, Kay and J-Bop, Cali J, and Rod Lee 

Bread clocking, all night, the heads knocking 

No feds, just Kevin Tie or west watching 

Bagging up at the table, while we chit chat 

Past the Phillie, wash your hands 'fore you hit that 

Young niggas getting it, everybody G'd up 

Other niggas only made sales when we re'd up 

Motorola flip, burn out in the beeper 

White Katie and Rhonda, Stacey and Shaniqua 

Yeah, cocaine, weed and forties 

That's when I was a shorty, crack spot stories 

To Allah be the glory