Correction Lyrics Nigerian Email by Billy Woods

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Lyrics

The truth already set sail, I'm looking for reasonable doubt
The check's in the mail and I promise not to cum in your mouth
I was born during a drought, I was born to a house divided against itself
I was born into the mouth of wealth amidst poverty
Dad died, they gave me his stuff
I put a couple more notches in the belt
Play the hand you dealt, D.C. on melt
Seeds pop in '98 knockin' "Release Yo Delf" in HU Meridian
Bush weed got me feelin' like a kid again
Traffic island Gilligan, DWB, accept the pat down, second-class citizen
No need for the sugar coatin', you see any brothas on the moon? (Huh?)
I got you open, Scott Norwood with the shank, you get cut and ganked
Gaffled, leaking from the poking
Big bank take little bank, Zimbabwean dollars what I'm holding so I'll take that now
Thanks, Sani Abacha, the boy golden
Face bloated, wrists frozen
When he wave from outdated Soviet tank, don't be frontin' like you don't know him
Buried in fatigues, Soulja Slim
I C-Murder in a Crimson Tide, George Teague
The Overlook Hotel is where I've always been

Your frame of reference is Brick Squad
Mine is Poppa Large, BIG shot on the East Coast
Ain't what it used to be, but I'll take it
Idle Boast, Cowardly Threat, flow makeshift
Hey momma, I finally made it!
No lie, son jumped out a third story window when we got raided
My feet never left the floor, I'm on that James Naismith
Soft-spoken, unabrasive
Politely ask Whitey to loosen the bracelet
Cuba Gooding his way out of central booking
Hot date? I do the cooking
Turns out she stays up in the Bronx, I'm in Brooklyn
That commute ain't appealin'
Best not forget your earrings
Summer heat searing
She's dressed for it so of course the streets are leering
My skin crawl and stomach turning
As Bill Bellamy cornballs honking and swerving
She hardly seem to notice, focused like bourbon, neat
I break up trees on your fourth generation imitation Premier beats
That's definitely not the flavor
And trust me you not doing the 90s no favors
Louie XIV in a clean glass piece, slow motion, Lee Majors
Theme music for stolen credit card movements
They caught the most etherous of vapor
White Suburb, Black Neighbor
I'm high like black Mayor
River City Ransom, but the hoe don't need no saviors
Sheesh, this hashish got me repeating myself
I'm gonna go get the papers, get the papers

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