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, Leathafase 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