pointproven214
i speak facts not emotions
fame is just so good imo.
[Verse 1]
I'm on the hill where the shyt is real
You would suppose it's all about money, hoes, and clothes
Territories in the smash like a crash from blasting
It's all about sex and a sass assassins
It always gotta be a flick up
The cops making a pickup
Or nikkas getting money from a stickup
Lost boys running around like a mad man
Killing, or either getting killed from a bad plan
One shorty had got his life tooken
From a sound like this, you know it gotta be in Brooklyn
They take it off as if they gotta start street
That's why the brothers on the Hill will bust a nikka in a heartbeat
Yo, everybody want to live long
So you bust another brother for looking in your fukking face for 'im
I gotta live it, plus roll with a temper
Cause nikkas go out the same way they get ya
Every other day, somebody gets born
And the nikkas on the corner playing the wall like handball
The only one remain in a bad game
Life's a pain; nikkas retire from the knuckle game
Some nikkas are killers when you drink Baccardi
But when they sober, they wouldn't bust a balloon at a birthday party
It's easy to tell what type of shyt sells
From the streets of the hometown
I'm pushing a Beemer, smoking a fat ounce
I'm from the Hill where the motherfukkers are buck wild
nikkas catching bodies most of the time beating trial
Like the Island, cocksuckers'll get touched
nikkas want beef, but hold a grudge like a clutch
nikkas on the deep dirty pack guns
Cause up on the real Hill, it's blow holes, money, no fair ones
I'm on my own cause my name's in a box
Only in jail, they playing for keeps up on the Hill
That's real
Lil Fame >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
[Verse 1]
I'm on the hill where the shyt is real
You would suppose it's all about money, hoes, and clothes
Territories in the smash like a crash from blasting
It's all about sex and a sass assassins
It always gotta be a flick up
The cops making a pickup
Or nikkas getting money from a stickup
Lost boys running around like a mad man
Killing, or either getting killed from a bad plan
One shorty had got his life tooken
From a sound like this, you know it gotta be in Brooklyn
They take it off as if they gotta start street
That's why the brothers on the Hill will bust a nikka in a heartbeat
Yo, everybody want to live long
So you bust another brother for looking in your fukking face for 'im
I gotta live it, plus roll with a temper
Cause nikkas go out the same way they get ya
Every other day, somebody gets born
And the nikkas on the corner playing the wall like handball
The only one remain in a bad game
Life's a pain; nikkas retire from the knuckle game
Some nikkas are killers when you drink Baccardi
But when they sober, they wouldn't bust a balloon at a birthday party
It's easy to tell what type of shyt sells
From the streets of the hometown
I'm pushing a Beemer, smoking a fat ounce
I'm from the Hill where the motherfukkers are buck wild
nikkas catching bodies most of the time beating trial
Like the Island, cocksuckers'll get touched
nikkas want beef, but hold a grudge like a clutch
nikkas on the deep dirty pack guns
Cause up on the real Hill, it's blow holes, money, no fair ones
I'm on my own cause my name's in a box
Only in jail, they playing for keeps up on the Hill
That's real
Lil Fame >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
