[Intro: Boldy James]
I paid my dues, facing life, I was stressing on
Now I take a deuce, cut it twice, put a seven on it
Mafia, what else?
[Verse 1: Boldy James]
Backwoods full of dead opps, reminiscing back on when I bled blocks
Still slappin' in them same drug zones the feds watching
Whale fishing, bottle full of syrup, I'm in Hell's Kitchen
Press-shifting, spot you with the work, we be deadlifting
Snubnose stick dance, Glock Nina clip hanging
ConCreature brick mason, been known to keep the heads boppin'
Hellblockin', big remote control, don't make me click the channel
Spin a drill front us in the field like I'm Mickey Mantle
Middle finger to the Yankees, this to the Black Sopranos
Who broke the mold, lo and behold, this for Emmett Till
Wrist dancing, Mr. Bold-and-Cold with the tricky dance moves
Strigadil with the finger grips on the handle
Bottle rocket hot, lit the wick on the roman candle
Put the samples out, next day have all your heads missing
Where squares go in seventeen like Uncle Grady's son
Playing with that junkyard dog, cut with the Redd Foxx
What else?
[Chorus: Boldy James]
Backwoods full of dead opps, we was hell-risen
Max spoons in them lotto packs, got the heads nodding
Slappin' in them same drug zones the feds watching
I know this shit come with gun smoke or a jail sent'
Trap booming, a thousand stacks is a meal ticket
Used to red-roof them brickies, now we hill-top 'em
Still clocking, quick to chip a nigga like some red hot
Still clutching, stuffing Backwoods full of dead opps
I paid my dues, facing life, I was stressing on
Now I take a deuce, cut it twice, put a seven on it
Mafia, what else?
[Verse 1: Boldy James]
Backwoods full of dead opps, reminiscing back on when I bled blocks
Still slappin' in them same drug zones the feds watching
Whale fishing, bottle full of syrup, I'm in Hell's Kitchen
Press-shifting, spot you with the work, we be deadlifting
Snubnose stick dance, Glock Nina clip hanging
ConCreature brick mason, been known to keep the heads boppin'
Hellblockin', big remote control, don't make me click the channel
Spin a drill front us in the field like I'm Mickey Mantle
Middle finger to the Yankees, this to the Black Sopranos
Who broke the mold, lo and behold, this for Emmett Till
Wrist dancing, Mr. Bold-and-Cold with the tricky dance moves
Strigadil with the finger grips on the handle
Bottle rocket hot, lit the wick on the roman candle
Put the samples out, next day have all your heads missing
Where squares go in seventeen like Uncle Grady's son
Playing with that junkyard dog, cut with the Redd Foxx
What else?
[Chorus: Boldy James]
Backwoods full of dead opps, we was hell-risen
Max spoons in them lotto packs, got the heads nodding
Slappin' in them same drug zones the feds watching
I know this shit come with gun smoke or a jail sent'
Trap booming, a thousand stacks is a meal ticket
Used to red-roof them brickies, now we hill-top 'em
Still clocking, quick to chip a nigga like some red hot
Still clutching, stuffing Backwoods full of dead opps
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