Testi Kids On The Ave - Miilkbone

Kids On The Ave

The block’s hot, the block’s hot with top notch glock shots\nSurrounded by fiends but in for slingers to drop rocks\nThe blue baggy bender boys, that’s the way we roll\nFiends around the way’ll suck the ego out your pee hole\nI’m fuckin fed up with my pockets bein empty\nI’m known as an MC but all these fiends tempt me\nStarin at my man Chill lookin at the way he would\nRun the drug game, we was from the same neighborhood\nBut back then nothin more than a average\nWe grew up together, dunkin balls off a carriage\nAnd now he got little hot shot slingin rocks in spots\nMad props, got all the fuckin blocks locked\nI knew this kid when he was a litter but now he’s bigger\nGot little kids pullin triggers and I feel like a quitter\nAnd all I do is complain, I gotta earn a rap name\nCause gettin caught always kept me out the crack game\nBut then I see the five-o don’t harrass em, they just pass em\nEven ask me if they can have some\nI go straight to my man J.B. to hit me off\nI hit you back, so you won’t be at a loss\nYou got kids on the ave\nLickin shots in the locks\nSlingin rocks on blocks with cocked glocks\nIt don’t stop\nA year later, my pockets are greater, but no, not much\nI got my girl cookin product and cuttin rocks up\nYeah, the microphone whiz got his own biz\nDaddy dearest to weirdest, I’m sellin to my own kids\nThey call me greedy as a granddad\nLeave a whole clan mad, I want the same car my man Jam had\nI never get it by little crack freaks in backstreets\nFuck the backseat, it’s time to let my gat speak\nBut then again I’d rather be on the corner pushin cookies\nOn little steps that locked up slingin cigarettes\nMan, my mind’s all fucked up\nI tell my man «tough luck, in this game you never get enough bucks»\nAnd so I’m 'bout to spread eagle on muthafuckas\nHad business from Southern Cal all the way to Rockers\nGot a bunch of kids who know my name on the block\nAs the hand clapper rapper on the rise with the rocks\nCause real late at night all these fiends are like zombies\nDon’t walk by me (I ain’t your everyday timer-timer)\nI never do my own dirt cause that won’t work\nI got kids runnin for mine, fuck doin they homework\nIt seems the more time passes the larger that I’m gettin\nWritin rhymes every day but don’t know where my future’s headin\nIt’s me and my girl cause my crew ran a game\nTook a train to the plane cause they said I ain’t the same\nThey said I got the drug fame now I’m actin cloudy\nBut cash rules everything around me, so be audi\nThis ain’t the way I planned it, I don’t understand it\nBack then I rock a party and still end up bein stranded\nBut now I got my onw ride, got my own crib\nClockin get me more money than a microphone did\nI find J.B. to pay him what he gave me\nI’m walkin mad nervous cause these kids are actin shady\nI sit back collectin, the five-o ain’t expectin\nIf ain’t shit wrong, there’s no need for correctin\nI got the mad dough cash flow, paid out the asshole\nMore power than Wonder Woman’s lasso\nBut oh shit, there go Chill, said he gotta speak to me\nThat’s that kid that inspired me illegally\nHe probably wan' get d with me, or maybe not\nPulled out the black glock, «stay off the fuckin block»\nNow what m’I gon' do, fuck that bitch, he ain’t shit\nI put the hollow tip clip on the hip and hit the strip\nScared as a muthafucka, I ain’t gon' front\nThese bitches want my head, I’m 'bout to give em what they want\nThey’ll probably get my girl if they don’t see my brains melt out\nFuck the satisfaction, I’m about to take myself out