In the S.T.R.E.E.T.S.

[Verse 1: Ill Conscious]
In west Baltimore
Robbed niggas then boasted about the feeling
Came back to the crib with the roaches up on the ceiling
Niggas gotta keep the combination of hope and resilience
Now we just dreaming of coming close to a million
Just gripping the SIG Sauer when thinking quick on them lit corners
Pitching a fixed portion ‘til the early morning
So play with endurance, it's three to nine, it's what the norm is
The knockers getting on us, they try to stick us with warrants
The shit that you accustomed to when you lust for the paper, when your
Family could switch on you, fuck trusting a neighbor. It’s the nature
Don’t be the victim hugging the pavement when there’s
Beef on the rotation and bodies stuffed in the vacants
Scramble raw, the coke or the smack, the murder rap, the mollies
Or the OxyContin, niggas get locked for the Percocets
Mamas addicted, last year was the highest statistics
Of homicide, niggas died, shit is logistics

[Verse 2: Jay Royale]
Royale, I’m like Patrice Lumumba, play like it's [?]. Could tell
By my moves how I keep my name out of rumors, I stay
In tune with the flyest buyers, consumers. You could
Try us. The shooters way smoother than a suede PUMA
Streets watch me, fatigues, beef broccolis
I know they intrigued, I proceed with the heat by me indeed
Keep a fly skiz under my sleeve
I usually shoot debris, chiefing botany trees
Be discreet mostly. Shit, y’all know how that be
Stay far away from police ‘cause they be jocking my stee. It’s all
Politics, money, pussy, and rival cliques
Dirty burners is something like a survivor click
Without my mens and them rapping, just ain’t as interesting
And niggas out here, swinging rackets like it’s Wimbledon
Word to my Timberlands, nubuck, suede, I’ma die
Rocking my chain like Junebug Spade in the game

[Verse 3: Ill Conscious and (Jay Royale)]
From the land of the armed robberies, killers and monstrosities
Having the illest shootouts all on your moms property
Water ain’t staying hot, so taking the quick showers
Our city fed by food stamps and the WIC vouchers
It’s rugged, but the ghetto’s extraordinary. You laying
With medical examiners when you rest in the mortuary
It’s Baltimore, so peep the slang and grammar. My vision
Is panoramic, carpenter thugs, niggas banging hammers
(We tryna ball out the hood like Jesus Shuttlesworth)
(For what it’s worth, niggas be sipping that Mrs. Buttersworth)
(Don’t get robbed on my side of the city ‘cause you could)
(Get your chain snatched then shot with the glizzy. Come politick)
(With me. They sleeping on the science that’s with me)
(But don’t be wanting drama when the llama is with me)
(I’m in the streets like vandalism and broken language)
(And only money keep us motivated in the game)