"Cheat The Grind" lyrics
Boldy James & Rome Streetz Lyrics
227
What else?
Let's get it
Mr. Bo Jackson, got the coldest of the spin moves when I send blues
OT action, gotta pay attention to the street signs and the symbols
Upside-down peace signs stitched in the seats of the Benzo
Ducking dumb time on the east side with a six-three of that Brenda
No weak links in the chain, never lit the flame, can't be rekindled
No tiddlywinks or dents and tinks and I'm the missing link to that spindle
Known art of evils that men do to make this shit a lot more simple
Red-dot a nigga like a Hindu, headshot'll kiss him in his temple
Singing niggas lullabies, choppa cuttin' slice like a Ginsu
Teaching niggas how to pimp a butterfly, not let a butterfly pimp you
Wrist a brick of blow fare, don't go nowhere without the yistol
Toast to the smoke, I grossed the most end of the fiscal
Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind
Full court, no scrimmages, it's only right to press
Jumped on the freeway from the port with twenty keys of shine
From Lower East to Michigan aboarding private jets
Hunnid a week, can't take no shorts, no leavin' me behind
My trigger finger whisperin', "Just hold me tight and press"
Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind
Why niggas thinkin' that this shit was overnight success?
What else?
Worked pretty as a bitch in a pageant
Heard he got caught with a chirp, that ain't no civil infraction
Big four-fifth givin' captions, we control the strip, no traction
Trey five-seven in my hoop, shorts two-sport legend, Bo Jackson
Two-twenty-seven to the fifty zone, two-four-seven, no lackin'
Old English D on the fitty, reppin' fourth letter, Anglo-Saxon
Gangin' them, all they know is rackin', sellin' dope and trappin'
Puttin' pain in, post crackin', gang shit, but ain't no stackin'
No flockin', finna up the scope, catch him and we fap him
Put him on the floor, if you really gang, then you know what happened
When I dropped him, get a nigga changed for a couple scruples
Hit him with the Allen wrench, heard that nigga got a couple screws loose
Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind
Full court, no scrimmages, it's only right to press
Jumped on the freeway from the port with twenty keys of shine
From Lower Eastern Michigan to boardin' private jets
Hunnid a week, can't take no shorts, no leavin' me behind
My trigger finger whisperin', "Just hold me tight and press"
Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind
Why niggas thinkin' that this shit was overnight success?
What else?
What else?
Let's get it
Mr. Bo Jackson, got the coldest of the spin moves when I send blues
OT action, gotta pay attention to the street signs and the symbols
Upside-down peace signs stitched in the seats of the Benzo
Ducking dumb time on the east side with a six-three of that Brenda
No weak links in the chain, never lit the flame, can't be rekindled
No tiddlywinks or dents and tinks and I'm the missing link to that spindle
Known art of evils that men do to make this shit a lot more simple
Red-dot a nigga like a Hindu, headshot'll kiss him in his temple
Singing niggas lullabies, choppa cuttin' slice like a Ginsu
Teaching niggas how to pimp a butterfly, not let a butterfly pimp you
Wrist a brick of blow fare, don't go nowhere without the yistol
Toast to the smoke, I grossed the most end of the fiscal
Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind
Full court, no scrimmages, it's only right to press
Jumped on the freeway from the port with twenty keys of shine
From Lower East to Michigan aboarding private jets
Hunnid a week, can't take no shorts, no leavin' me behind
My trigger finger whisperin', "Just hold me tight and press"
Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind
Why niggas thinkin' that this shit was overnight success?
What else?
Worked pretty as a bitch in a pageant
Heard he got caught with a chirp, that ain't no civil infraction
Big four-fifth givin' captions, we control the strip, no traction
Trey five-seven in my hoop, shorts two-sport legend, Bo Jackson
Two-twenty-seven to the fifty zone, two-four-seven, no lackin'
Old English D on the fitty, reppin' fourth letter, Anglo-Saxon
Gangin' them, all they know is rackin', sellin' dope and trappin'
Puttin' pain in, post crackin', gang shit, but ain't no stackin'
No flockin', finna up the scope, catch him and we fap him
Put him on the floor, if you really gang, then you know what happened
When I dropped him, get a nigga changed for a couple scruples
Hit him with the Allen wrench, heard that nigga got a couple screws loose
Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind
Full court, no scrimmages, it's only right to press
Jumped on the freeway from the port with twenty keys of shine
From Lower Eastern Michigan to boardin' private jets
Hunnid a week, can't take no shorts, no leavin' me behind
My trigger finger whisperin', "Just hold me tight and press"
Stuck in the street, can't cut no corners, you can't cheat the grind
Why niggas thinkin' that this shit was overnight success?
What else?
Writer(s): James Clay Jones, Jerome Anthony Allen
