Story Mode by STREET LIGHT
Story Mode by STREET LIGHT

Story Mode

STREET LIGHT * Track #2 On Press Start

Story Mode Lyrics

[Intro]
Now throw your hands up in the air
Right where we can see 'em
Right where we can see 'em
Yeah, now put your hands up where we can see 'em
This ain't a block party, this a block with policemen
Call them cops and I know they all hate it
With a chopper got my homies all faded
Either way it all comes down to shots
And we ain't talking drinks when we say they getting wasted

[Verse 1]
My people ain't stupid
We using this riff raff and confusion
To get gas while be step back, click clack and shoot it
Better get back with that misconclusion
That rat-at-at-at-at, pick and choose it
Who's next to lose it
Those bullets never cared about who you is
The streets of Detroit, welcome to my city
Hell comes for the many whose bail was unforgiving
When L rumming the Henny, prevailed into a killing
The jealousy turned felony, let 'em be under sixteen
Now we have just credibly witnessed another incredibly sickening
Melody from the seventh key and sixth string
Street guitarist, I used to dream of leaving memories
But like an easy target, ain't none of y'all gone miss me
I'm just a minority painting a picture formally
Satan will get you, but the scriptures what gave me authority
Sitting, waiting there cordally
I was six on the porch any
Day I could witness different decisions devoid morally
At night night time, I go five-o fight crime
It's apparent they don't like my kind
No parent in their right mind like mine
Wanna hear about a disappearance or the death of their child in their lifetime
Like my middleschool friends where nine died
I was like my God, did I end up alive just so I could sit and write rhymes?
Nope, better get past the music
You sit back and cruise, while I spit raps, the truth is
Plain when I kick facts, mainly cause the shoe fits
Alluding alluded statements that gold chains enunces
Which means the gangster lie in bars
They got their head bopping translates to iron bars
They got my people dead or boxed in
More than twelve rounds, Philly shells, great punches
And locked in a cell doesn't mean they taking numbers

[Interlude: MK]

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