Intro (Ron Harvey Jr.)

[Intro]
“Trackbullyz”
“Hey Boo Boo”
“[?]”

[Dark Lo]
Ron Harvey Jr., long awaited
You full of shit like you constipated
I could bag a brick straight if I concentrate it
In jail, heard your sneaks got confiscated
Ab took 10 and the nigga ate it
I’ll take 10 for him and we’re not related
But that nigga so real, I feel obligated
Then Murda got booked, now I’m frustrated
Hundred bundles got flushed when the cops raided
I felt closer to Allah when the [?]
‘014 shit, I’m trying to cop the latest
But I’m stuck in the hood, I’m the block favorite
I’d look stupid making club songs
When these niggas out here shooting with their gloves on
Is there a Heaven for a gangster when the thug’s gone?
He just flew to Miami and my plug gone
But he gon’ mail him back, [?] nigga, it’s on
They know that boy [?] gonna get him gone
For my nigga [?] just wasn’t [?]
He know I’m coming with my clip out
I only love that bitch when my dick out
Out of town, they said that Philly nigga stick out
You know, beard all poking
Waves, all spinning and the truck probably floating
Or drag a nigga to the safe, tell him, “open”
And I’ll never buy syrup if it’s open
No rap beef, see me in the streets
Lil nigga seen Lo, I’ll let him speak his peace
I don’t give a fuck about you, nigga, keep it brief
Who gon’ check on my kids when I’m underneath?
Put a check on your head, nigga, I’m a G
I’ll do that shit myself, you gon’ cop a plea
Ten toes down
We’re five deep, but it’s ten four-pounds
Stand over you, ten more rounds
Loud phone jumping, I need ten more pounds
Music make a nigga calm down
Half the city rats, so I’m usually not around
You’s a pussy and your team faggots
Yeah I know, every bar, I talk about my ratchet
But I’m really ‘bout that life, nigga, let’s have it
9 milli end your life if I ever grab it
Blacking out on these beats is a bad habit
Rest in peace, Osama was a fucking savage
These new niggas got the game screwed
On my summer set shit, I’m that same dude
Ab and Nitty video, I got the same tools
And my main man gone [?] back my [?]
I might drink a bottle for P Smooth
Lil’ niggas kill for me, homie, be cool
If I ever get hungry, then he food
I know you heard of OBH boy, we move
If my plug run out, then I see news
I know niggas want to see me in my county blues
Chuck Taylors on, eating county food
Stab that nigga in the back, he could barely move
Or better yet, with my casket closed
Dark Lo got killed, then his niggas rose
Heard your man got killed and you niggas froze
Too many biting niggas, had to switch flows
Too many hungry nights, had to kick those
I got secrets on you niggas, don’t get exposed
Internet beef shit, I don’t get in those
‘Bout to put my order in, I might get a load
By property, then I might get a Rolls
My smut bitch, yeah she might hit her nose
Abandoned house, yeah I might get a stove
[?] electric on, then I’m cooking O’s
Take a pic, grab my dick, middle finger pose
I heard you niggas killing over hoes
I used to hustle out in the cold
Never talked to the cops, nigga, that’s the code
Look him in the eyes, nigga never fold
Never pillow talk to bitches, that shit is old
You get a block down the Lands, that shit is gold
But you might get it took, better get a hold
I never got nothing took on my son soul
You’re a rat, nigga, crawl back in your hole
Heard they put my little cousin back in the hole
‘Cause he stabbed the nigga, gave him like 30 holes
I skipped school, I had dirty clothes
And my sneaks, they ain’t had no sole
And I’ll never ever sell my soul
Reach Heaven after life, that’s my only goal
My lil’ bitch, she be on the pole
Fuck a friend, I got fam and foes
Two cars on your block like shop closed
Ron Harvey Jr. shit, I’m ‘bout to drop a load

[Break]
Fuck it, man
Free AR, free Murda, man
Free Cousin K
Nah I saying?
Get well, Lik Moss
And I’m rocking for all my niggas
Y’all niggas out here pump faking
Y’all know who run these fucking streets, nigga
OBH, Ron Harvey Jr

[Dark Lo]
Damn!
Let the ladder drum roll on you
Same nigga talking tough, he done told on you
I made a couple bucks off that boost mobile
OBH across the world, y’all niggas local
When you was in jail, nigga, who wrote you?
How to take apart a gun, nigga, who coached you?
OG for my youngings like I’m fucking supposed to
Sometimes, I want to grab my gun and go postal
Every Sunday with my family probably eating soul food
And I stand behind anything I ever sold you
And a nigga like me never say I told you
223’s bullets, I could let it [?] you