Cocaine Central - Wu-Block, Ghostface Killah, Sheek Louch

Rain drops of water that turn into hard glaciers

Bob Barker microphones, I get paper

My block is cocaine central, eat your food

With ancient or new, crew utensils

Turbaned up like a royal prince from Medin'

With emerald green birthstones in my bling

Rolex goggles, some of my best side bitches

I ever had, I kept in a bottle

Sniff that girl, whiff that girl

Feel the rush from Cuban, no cut, that’s pearl

An oily base, extract from green leafs

Set out to dry, becomes white from the heat

Package stuck, to retails on the street

Yonkers all through Brownsville, ask Sheek

With my connect I may be the next Steve Jobs

My best cousy a nurse with college degrees, God

Triple black bags, and Champion cone hoods

Blending in with killas that visit the wrong hood

Pardon self, never the wrong hood

I’m safe, and I ain’t gotta knock on wood

Cocaine central, sniff city heater park

Fish scale mental, hustle, get the weed to spark

Niggas outside, all day, even after dark

Niggas hustle hard, like the Gods don’t believe in God

Coke in my blood, weed in my lungs

Barely staying up, bout to get some fried chicken from Wong’s

She laying there, ass all fat in the thongs

Hand me my gun, shades on, blocking the sun

Whip fresh out the dealer, think tonight gon' be fun

Coke connect already calling, I told him I take 'em, but

We can do better when his prices start falling

Nowadays I feel it’s no need to be greedy

Cuz you can make the same money off of pills and weed

Shooters indeed, jail system taught him to read

Streets taught him how to kill, wolves taught him to feed

Just like everything you learn, you gon' teach to your seed

Yo, but I don’t give a fuck, I clap off, try me, nigga

Keep that featherweight by me, nigga, yeah

Aiyo, Vel, call this nigga, man, what the fuck, B?

We sitting here forever, yo, Lorne, give me my phone, fam

Fucking call him, myself, hello?

Pretty Toney?

Wake the fuck up, man, we gotta leave, man

We going on this fucking European tour, what the fuck, we leaving or what

We sitting at the airport and shit, you left with them bitches last night

You ain’t that sick, nigga talking bout he got the flu and all that, come on,

man

And that bitch got a big fucking head and shit, man, what the fuck, man

Aiyo, Ghost, look-look, check it out right

I need to know if we doing this shit or not, man

I’mma chill for like, another 40 minutes and then I’m going home, aight

And then, then, then, yo, yo, but give that bitch my number when you done,

my nigga

Yo, but yo, hurry up, man, and don’t wear them fucking skinny jeans to this

airport, God

It’s a No-Skinny-Jean Air zone, aight?