Brand New Chanel Kicks

Where we at? Boldy James, real name James Clay Jones III (Mr. Jackson)
Was involved in a two-car accident that happened in the Detroit metropolitan area (227, what else?)
He was taken to the hospital in critical condition
Sufferin' from broken vertebrae in his neck and other severe injuries (two-way, deuce, siete, yeah)
But after undergoin' extensive surgery on his neck, he was taken out of ICU in stable condition

This drug zone shit is so for real (what else?)
Long live Slick, welcome home Lord Chill
They know that my blow be the real deal Holyfield (blocks)
From East Warren to Cadillac and I ain't talkin' no Seville

Thuggin' in the bus at Ruff and Finn in the choke and kill (free the guys)
Ranned it up on Schoolcraft down the street from Roller Wheels (yeah)
Thousand beans a day, hit your town with a boat of pills (skrrt)
With or without the rap game, I got dope for sale (uh-huh)

Nigga disrespect the gang, send 'em to the Holy Grail
You gotta weigh me off the Richter, never on the scale
Ghetto nigga, I love pretty bitches with ponytails (ayy)
All my killers standin' on the bidness, live from Soldier Field

Free all my guys in that federal holdin' cell (drr)
Started out on Gilchrist, now we packin' lunches, catchin' buses on 'em field trips
Satchel full of trail mix (sack up)
Stood up out my wheelchair in brand-new Chanel kicks (it's on)
Only gang member never had to do a jail stint

Real concreature, mix Amiri with the Helmut (yeah)
Hunnid in my chop, buck-50 in my Kel-Tec
(Stood on the bidness like I'm 12'6")
Hunnid in my chop, buck-50 in my Kel-Tec

Real concreature, mix Amiri with the Helmut
Hunnid in my chop, buck-50 in my Kel-Tec
(Helmut Lang hoodie with that switchy (grr), you hear me? Yeah)
Hunnid in my chop, buck-50 in my Kel-Tec

Had to place another field bet (cha-ching)
Invested in a pill press and ran me up a real check
Three weeks ago, was paralyzed, my peoples all was terrified
Been had a blue check, but in the streets, you know I'm verified

Got a sale for two P's of powder and a brick in the Cherokee
Right after I do these three hours of physical therapy (I gotta work out)
Countin' my blessings, don't know why he keep sparin' me (ayy)
Got a house around my neck and a kit full of clarity

A half brick of Dolly Parton, molly by the carton
Too many chop sueys, you know I got an arson
Some of my base Clio always be tryin' to bargain
Servin' on the late night show like I'm Johnny Carson

They call me Mr. Ten08, 'cause of what I be chargin'
Big 227, SIG Sauer, this is not a Larkin (227)
Might pull up in a UFO, but I'm not a martian
That's A Awful Lot Of Cough Syrup hoodie, Gallery Dept

Real concreature, mix Amiri with the Helmut (yeah)
Hunnid in my chop, buck-50 in my Kel-Tec
(Switches on switches)
Hunnid in my chop, buck-50 in my Kel-Tec (grr)

Real concreature, mix Amiri with the Helmut (yeah)
Hunnid in my chop, buck-50 in my Kel-Tec
(With the switchy on me (grr), you heard?)
Hunnid in my chop, buck-50 in my Kel-Tec (ayy, brrt)

(Let's get it) man, been five days since I broke outta rehab
They had me in there dependin' on 'em meds
Poppin' me, pokin' me
Skin poppin' me, stabbin' me, e'ry three, four fuckin' hours
Man, ain't got time for that shit, real creature, nigga

Screws and rods all in my shit
I couldn't do nothin', I couldn't even move my motherfuckin' toes three weeks ago, nigga
I'm back standin' on the bidness, yeah, back walkin' with my walker
Can stand up out my wheelchair strong, where we at? Mr. Jacksonville

Two-way, deuce, siete, Apex, Legend of Zelda
Game time, mafia, what else?
Hell block, hully gully, drug zone 76
Where we at? Let's get it



Credits
Writer(s): James Clay Jones Iii, Nicholas Craven
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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