Stress 38 Spesh (Ft. Hus KingPin & Rim Da Villin)

[Intro: Rim da Villin]
(Rim)
Peace to the god Spesh
You already know, my nigga (R.I.P.)

[Verse 1: Rim da Villin]
Uh, [?] a lot, no hoops we bounce rock
I ain't talking 'bout a speaker that bust, the loud pop
Take shorty cheeks to Thailand, she bang cock
[?] reefer, fly features, the ball court, uh
Shots come in [?] with heart, don't get booked
It's the plan to eat, ours to cook, and play good looks
Since a young'in on the steps or live niggas that rep
They didn't have to pass the torch, I stole it and never slept
Let my [?] taste that
If her eyes pop at your mini rock I take that
Scared money don't make noise like Illinois
The Chiraqs, don't get lined up like a round bat, uh
The stove fog got the lighter to a mayo jar
The boulevard cooking, I'm hitting [?]
My people shooting with a nine to five
I know traffic cops that'll tow your car while you're still inside
The best of me will short the cheese
You'll be leaking from your head like an STD
Yeah, these niggas giving pounds with they heads down
[?] with my backpack, I don't spray ground
From the waist up I just play [?], swing on 'em and slide off with
With metal in my hand I'm a cyborg, uh
[?] cake flip
And yeah, the stick shift, the grip even thicker than Bisquick, uh
A German ruger with [?]
If you survive you'll ride in a wheelchair with a dented head