Who composed the song “Streets Sour” by Young Buck?

The song “Streets Sour” by Young Buck was composed by ADOLPH THORTON, DAVID DARNELL BROWN, JERMAINE ERIC.

Streets Sour

ADOLPH THORTON, DAVID DARNELL BROWN, JERMAINE ERIC

Bought a new prepaid 'cause my plug said nigga it's back on
This a celebration bitch, my nigga Buck back home
My nigga yoho wordsmith had that ho blowing up my phone
I told that bitch I'd give her a thou-wow just to leave me alone
Pouring mud, smoking sour
I don't fuck with these niggas, they sour
My lil bitch so bad I treat her like a kid and I give her allowance
Yeah she got a fat ass and speak a different language
I started getting big bread, my family started changing
My niggas started hating
But I don't give a fuck I'm countin' this paper, concentrating
Where I'm from everybody selling dope and gang related
I pull up in my trap and take out all of my frustrations
RIP Pimp C, bumpin' Pimpulation

I got bills on the floor, clientele at the door
Streets sour, I can't even trust my friends no more
I got money on the floor, I got money on my phone
Streets sour, I can't even trust my family no more
I got bills on the floor, clientele at the door
Streets sour, I can't even trust my friends no more
I got money on the floor, I got money on my phone
Streets sour, I can't even trust my family no more

Streets sour, smokin' sour, 30 days, 20 shows
Bought a house, cashed out and I ain't even had a visitor
It's critical, I be one deep, all my friends invisible
I'm getting it ho, your bitch she know she pull up, get this dick to go
I'm gone, got two spots out of town
And probably won't answer my phone
If you not copping pounds
Be careful catching plays, make sure you not out of bounds
My young niggas wake up out of bed, talkin' 'bout lay it down
I got next and now, respect and a check
But these niggas still sour
I'm just cold as a brick and a drought on my wrist and still won't chill out
Buck called and told me I'm making the Ville proud
Dolph feel like me
Fuck a record deal, I deal loud
Lito!

Blowing up my phone beggin', bitch I ain't picking up
I got 50 bands flicking up, and plus my pistol sticking up
Cocaine in my fingernails, got my name ringing bells
Sending pounds in the mail
And all my junk is bringing sales
Mom was poppin' Xanax bars
Playing numbers and wrecking cars
I keep taking dope money and putting it on a checking card
Niggas hollering throw me somethin'
Acting like they don't owe me none'
I just told this ho don't let your baby daddy know we comin'
All my bitches poor, and they unemployed
Get they hair done just for fun and go shoppin' when they bored
Smoke so much kush by myself it got me feeling paranoid
My money on steroids but I can barely enjoy it

Young Buck

Streets Sour

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