Songtext The soul Smoke Dza

The soul

I smack all y'all niggas
And niggarrettes
Word to Ghost
Uh

Good business, I take pride in making great moves
Wear a skully in the summer, yet I stay cool
Knew cats that curved the bag so they could stay true
Been hungry so long, they starting to hate food
Heat on me for the bullshit, my weight move (move)
I was on the 'Lo, they was on J. Crew (uh)
I was on the dank, they was on K2 (uh)
They was moving eights, I had eight full
Pounds of the raw, hand it off, make 3 points or ounce it out and get yours
Give 'em a couple grams over, they gon' feel you
Can't give you all of this game, might have to kill you
Barbecue and mildew, you know you done fucked up right? Where's Bill Duke
Fake nigga, no matter how you dress it up, it's still you
Make 'em disappear, I'm skillful
Watch 'em appear, under my (?)
Can't even trust niggas be out to get you
Don't let your last meal be the hand that fed you
My Mexican homie flip the work good, he used to wrestle
Shit got hot over there he had to refuge

Real hate over fake love, any day
Real hate over fake love, any day

Every man at your man, like every chick ain't your chick
Understand where we stand, you can't sit where we sit
We started off hand in hand, then moved to brick after brick
You a fan or you fam, y'all niggas quick to forget
Drug dealers scouting like, "Who got it to send it out?"
Breaking down the ounces, make samples and give it out
Live in the mountains, phone service be in out
Bag full of birds, the only way we could chicken out
Try to manage your vibe energy
A fake friend could do more damage than five enemies
Barely see me with beef, like fried Kennedy
But bring your instrument, we could have us a live symphony
In a tight alley, weed be like Cali's
Gunplay scenes, I squeeze like Mike Lowry
All you see is sticks and signs, a light rally
Red track suit, new Swizz beat, white Bally's (Vado)

Real hate over fake love, any day (Uh-huh. uh, uh, uh)
Real hate over fake love, any day