Stories
Little Mike with the big head, he used to come around
Rob niggas on the block like he wasn't getting feed
He wore them all red outfits, his color was red
Tear drop in the corner of his eye like Lil' Wayne
Nose always running cause he sniffed cocaine
He used to come around with JoJo in this little white truck
On some South Shore shit, like they ain't give a fuck
Now I ain't supposed to tell ya'll they sell guns round here
That cripple made dudes, and some got diarrhea
Jugs on every block but we live out here
And Staten Island be my nigga, Ben, Lilz, and Pop
Beating niggas up on the ave and take they rocks
Slim kid with the glass eye that know how to box
Staten Island's popular son got cut with the ox
See us racing down the terrace avoiding the cops
Cracks be in they asshole make they asshole hot
Run, If you ever pack a nice size gun
Or get caught with that shit then you fucked up son
Ayo, this one right here goes out for my Gee Street clique
My G's from Gee Street, stack G's on some G shit
Narcs are circling sharks, them Gee Street dicks
Five bucks fills the Dutch, them Gee Street Knicks
Why my peoples had to go down for them Gee Street hits
Yo, I smells a, someone a Gee Street snitch
Son slandered my name on that Gee Street strip
Yo, heard that dread ran him off the Gee Street clique
Picture hard to scale, it's heavy white, It's very hype
But every night the block smell like chicken on the grill
You ain't chef'n hard for real, you had ten grams B.C.
Before cooked, you wound up getting seven on your scale
You shook, stuck like the elevator doors
Stoned like Scram, Leathaface and Kawz, what
Yeah, yo you's a lame bitch
Claiming you thing, you sang snitch
Meanwhile meet with the Marshall pointing at named pics
Your street credibility's shaky now
You better relocate before them hood dudes eat your face
But it seems you ready to meet your fate
So I'm a guess that you ready to die, on some Carlito's Way
So now you back on the ave, two-five in the stash
Looking for someone to blast, so you can see your grave
Can't make no money now, everybody's acting foul
It's all 'cause you didn't have no money for trial
We're not done yet, you see your way
And yet you got gagged and hog tied, corn chip
You a Frito Lay, you better move out quick yo
Leave those trays, and get snitching out your life son
True G's don't stray