Rags To Riches Barron Ricks (Ft. Cypress Hill & Self-Scientific)

[Intro: Barron Ricks]
Yeah
Yo (Yeah), for all my Harlem breaded brown motherfuckers
For my niggas from the motherfuckin' Hill (Easy [?], easy)
On the Hill all around, it's them big niggas

[Verse 1: Barron Ricks]
Fluorescent words flash signs in your mind, rhymes I find
Combined with fly shit, sun enlights the blind
Hold fort, rock a court when the sons change quick
Concepts get flipped, more complex for hits
My street slangs dangle mic cords and strangle in the quarters
It's not a Ford Expedition, Land Cruiser pole position
Strike first, we never ask questions, intuition
When guns bust, you duck to see who's spittin', buggin' in broad daylight
It's Harlem where we drive live niggas' connects
We get right, dime bags for the flight
Participatin' in this game of life with all cards dealt
Pokerface, ready to gamble my fate away
It's on the line son, to get mines, son, double-up, son
The hard way, son, fate of man, son, I'm out, son

[Chorus: Barron Ricks]
We blow the spot, make it hot if you bob a lot
Rockin' charts, cock Glocks, take over you blocks
Stash weed from cops, when we bust you drop
Pop the top, take shots, smash out and you drop
(Drop, come on, come on,, come on, now come one)