Four, Five, and a Tre

[Intro] Free, free, free, free, free Hey put the pistol back under the sink man [Verse 1] Imma gon’ spit a forty eight That’s a four, five and a tre Used to get the tray lunch for the free Sixth grade Now the way the boy eat, Imma need ten plates I don’t need templates for what God mapped out Yeah the sound surround ‘cause I max out Excuse the violent language as I map out All the scenery that’s leaving me when I black out Okay, ain’t no need for fronting I keep it one hundred I don’t stretch the truth but I’ve been working on my lunges Got a leg up on the competition Know you see me coming This is rapping in my genes, keep it square Like a punnet Imma spend a whole summer somersaulting to the summit Aw, sucki sucki now Seem like he onto something Man I swear they overlook me But I never get insulted Shon like, what the lamp? I’m Aladdin, where’s the sultan I’ve been looking for a comer Graduate above me, I’m from where they pull the gun up Aggravated in my head, I know I hear my momma Saying don’t be reckless, you don’t wanna fit your bumper Waiting for the boys to come check like lumber While you get your kids kidnapped, no slumber Riding with the MAC in the back of the Hummer And they shooting like Jerry Stack with the jumper Blacks losing numbers [Verse 2: Ki’Shon] Imma gon’ spit a forty eight That’s a four, five and a tre Yeah I been a rapper since Yahweh’s little [?] What’s up? Now I’m moving like a puma through my city streets Hoping ain’t no tune up when the tool up ain’t no fixing leaks Sooner or later they’ll wet you up Like a barracoota lee and shirt more room but ain’t no Oklahoma Soon as everybody’s shooting like it’s heroin Try to play a hero find a bullet in your heroine Aw naw, there you go again Flow something like a sawed-off Put it to your chin Yeah right when you get gnawed off I want you to bite it, homie you recite it Please tell me how you do a major if you undecided Say you want that real and I really write it This has been inspired from my higher place Heaven got me hosting hell fire Hell to the sire I’ve been killing tracks for a minute now Got a different style for my different styles Still switch it up, like the tree limbs Grandma use to him me with I’m spitting tough but let me pick it up I’m less concerned about keeping the gold Doing this here for my people so Peep the flow But eye the God that gave me the part for seeing the whole The killers and dealers and billers that live in my city got me wanna lead them all Not if you feeling the pressure, I swear Devil got us in the seat, but hold like uh Imma gon’ spit a forty eight That’s a forty five and tre Went the O side for the summer Still never been to LA, what’s up What’s up? Hey what’s up? Hey what’s up?