Scrape The Bowl (feat. Benny The Butcher)

B.B. Butcher
 Let's get it
 From Detroit to Buffalo, we love to smuggle blow
 Soon as the pack landed, I let a couple go
 Michigan, back to New York, keep burning up the pipe
 We turning up at night, I just earned another stripe
 90 East and 94, ducking the state patrol
 I had to move safe and low, 'specially 'cause my face was known
 Free all my hitters in the clink just tryna make parole
 I'ma still scrape the bowl 'til the day you make it home
 We need a place to pitch, ain't a mound, get a brick, break it down
 Hit a lick, take you down, take a city, rape a town
 80 big ones in the ceiling, tell that bitch, "Don't make a sound"
 '80s babies still in prison, wish that I could break him out
 Stood up and he made us proud, told him, "When I make it out
 We ain't gon' have to risk our life no more, I found a safer route"
 I just shot a kite to bro, he put me on a paper route
 Now we on the road, 36 Os wrapped up in paper towel
 My witness ain't show up to court, the judge, he had to weigh the trial
 They say I got a morbid sense of humor, but that made me smile
 Shout out to my shooter, when he drill you, that's a flagrant foul
 Just put in for his appeal, he told me it might take a while
 Told him, "Ain't shit but some time, just make sure that you make it count" (Uh-huh)
 "And when you get back out that bitch, don't let these niggas take you out"
 "Or trick you out the street again, these bitches out here chasing clout" (Huh)
 "Make sure you double-count it, give a fuck how long it take to count" (Yo)
 I channel my thoughts, dope in my scale, hand on my fork
 We hustlers, prices double up when it land in New York
 Wait, name a clique with a rep substantial as ours
 And the work so good, all the fiends compare you to God
 Dope shooters walk my block like it's the Land of the Lost
 I gave back to the ghetto, they never hand you awards
 Cool, this for the homies that's dead, and in the yard
 All the road trips to cop work what got my stamina strong
 I got my bitch putting animal on
 I got my first brick and copped cameras for the crib and the alarm
 Two Os and a V like that Canada squad
 Magic in the pot like I whip grams with a wand, yeah
 This for the money, the hundreds left in the basement
 The stash box we only touch on special occasions
 Y'all not up 'cause y'all do it just to get famous
 The plug hit me back, and I been destined for greatness
 From Detroit to Buffalo, we love to smuggle blow
 Soon as the pack landed, I let a couple go
 Michigan, back to New York, keep burning up the pipe
 We turning up at night, I just earned another stripe
 90 East and 94, ducking the state patrol
 I had to move safe and low, 'specially 'cause my face was known
 Free all my hitters in the clink just tryna make parole
 I'ma still scrape the bowl 'til the day you make it home