Stanley’s Friends

Hahahahahaha
Who I Be

Prod Morriarchi

[Verse 1: WH@iB££]
First of all
Let's talk about you ill fakers
How most of you afford to drink your counterfeit and papers [?]
Left up to me
Well, I'd deny the whole lot of you
Horrible
Hope the whole roof falls on top of you
I keep it real like money, g and only fade a few
Like jim jones syndrome
Cult gang posse crew
Brainwave, I pave that
Buggin' in The basement
Fingers on the button
And ---- blood on the apron[?]
Stinkin' up that mary jane
[?] the danker grade
Iron lung trainin'
Smokin' til I'm old and grey
Now I gotsta talk a phrase[?]
Now here's a doper phrase
A fuckin' toke a day will help you keep your doc away
I like my waters muddy
And my pockets phat
You dropped your [?] I want her back[?]
You don't deserve to poke it
So hand it over, brag
I bring the storm
Get you open with the sanga knife
Yellow tape, half lines[?]
Box cutter, deep hits
Chalk on the pavement
The body's on my Craigs[?]
Love the sound of sirens
Got it on the replay
High in the mornin', cold saggin in the eveniiiin'!

[Verse 2: Lee Scott]
Sweg, blood and coffee on me sheep skin coat
Reaching deep into me pocket for a smoke
Probably the goat but I'd never gloat
I walk up to the edge and float
To the other side, in a single humble stride
Run and hide, before I trip and crush your pride
Then leave for lunch and cut the pie five ways
So it's easier for me to munch (mmmm)
Outside the chippy, tipsy, sipping a whisky
Clicking me fingers at a kid for a ciggy
Sitting pretty in the ugly tree
Don't even look at me me when you look at me, just agree
Eyes on the floor while I dribble on
In your face with more faces than a quintesson
Asking you rhetorical questions like "Wheres your liquor gone?"
And what bottle I'm drinking from
Starving me Digimon, I'm something like a Sicilian don
At the gates of heaven giving God shit on the intercom
Chances stuck between slim and none
I meditate like "Get money, fuck bitches, om"

[Verse 3: Hibernation]
I used to wanna be a star, I'd love the money love the fame
Yeah, that'd be out this world but now all I want is space
Get the fuck up out my face
I don't got no true hope
Spray painting overrated on Tupacs tombstone
I carry the pistol mate, it's the american way
It'll make your character change like it did with Harriet Winslow
Speaking of Family Matters, no it don't so sit calm
Remove your clothes, do it slow and take this fucking dick Mom
Seal my blunts with holy water
Kill a priest and feel a rush
I'm bumping Killah Priest
Take whatever a pills I want
Fuck these kiddie rappers thinking that they something sick
I'm only over your head, cus I'm tired of you sucking dick
Fucking pricks, " " New breed
I'm from the Wu era too Pharoah for you geeks
Now it's like a job to me, I'm out here making mad bank
So read it and weep like the diary of Anne Frank

DAMN STRAIGHT