Hella Fresh - Corleone

Yo Prince from the top b You dun know how I do this fucking thing man

Everybody’s asking wheres Corleone man

Corleone’s been trapping man

Corleone’s been on the block

You get me?

All these rappers they’re talking smack on the net and hiding

Alright lets go Pussy what you feel like?

Follow on some street hype

I do this shit in real life

Mac on the speed bike

I trap and I eat right

Stacking that p right

Crack and the b’s right

Been doing this since knee high

Hella fresh, so fly

Never stress, so high

Nigga yes, no lie

This niggas death, don’t cry

The dinner stretch, four five

Thirty six, four nines

Been rapping since 96

I bodied him in four lines

Please, don’t compare to these

Still on the roads, and I really don’t give a fuck

Still on my toes, rolling with the nina tucked (10 toes)

Out in the cold trying to get this nigga popped

Black lives matter till that black nine splatters

How you trap line rappers

But you no trappers

So you lying motherfuckers

And your rhymes don’t match

Got me crying motherfuckers

Hope you die so bad

Trapping all year, no rapping this year

My guns gone cold, no clapping this year

They’re doing ten toes, that’s a fashion this year

I’m doing ten hoes, yeah I’m mashing these squares (Kilo)

Co this, Co that

Co switched, no brah

Co’s shit, so whack

Co switched his flow brah

Co’s broke, no brah

Co gets doe brah

What I got to show stacks to please all these road cats

Flashing my whip

Whack on my hip

Back on the strip

Bitches back on my dick

Co’s back on his shit

Trapping to bits

Wrapping them bricks

Young bucks slapping in bits

No slacking or slip (Never)

I’m not a punch line rapper

I’m a crunch time cracker

A front line trappers on the cunch line trapping

Done time slacking on the cunch line lacking

All suede suit, blue suede in the coupe

All suede boots and my sprayers in the boot

I’m rolling with bob, no caine in the (Castro)

Spitting mad bars, now they’re saying its a fluke

They’re always chatting some shit

Till they get their mom hit

, I just dump it Cock it back and bump it Them niggas, they’re just fronting

They ain’t really done things

All my niggas on things

Yeah we really run things (GB)

GB fell off, prick GB sell arff

That OG fell off, I’ll blow his head off

Eggie’s with a chick, eating chicken and jollof

Beretta on my hip, got the bricks of kellogs (Ricky Lakey)

Tit for tat,

Free my niggas in the jail cells, Biz and Snap (Biz)

I’ll ping a nigga over, you think its rap?

Listen

I brought life to this rap game

These niggas lie and they acting

I’ll get my nine and I’ll clap him

He won’t survive with the mac 10

That nigga snitched and he’s bad now

Look at my wrist, I just brag loud

Look at my bitch she’s a bad brown

All of my clique we were swagged out (GB)

Look at my whip I just flashed out

I’m getting bricks from the flat now

I’ll give you tips on the trap, how?

(Yeah mate)

Look at my kicks thats a bag down

Don’t you ever talk that smack (Never)

Your not bad bro your a prat (Your a mug)

GB logo in my cap (GB)

I run my own shit, I’m !!

(Corleone)