Milk And Honey Songtext
von Frost
Milk And Honey Songtext
Yeah
Ha ha
Frost (Frost)
Jay Tee (Jay Tee)
Baby Beesh (Baby Beesh)
Philly Blunt (Philly Blunt)
Yeah
It's for all them players
Hustlers
Ballers
And thugsters
As a youngster, I never knew nada
Smoking on cheeba, and workin' on my pop's old school Impala
Not a scholar, even though I should of hit the books
Heart of a savage stone crook with a gangsta look
On my face
All about the paper chase
I was laced as a teen with a triple beam
Trump tight
I gambled all day and night
Pitbull, cock fights
And shootin' dice
I had to hustle til I pulled a muscle out my body
Looked up to Tony Montana and John Gotti
As times changed, Bigg Frost had to move with 'em
Big bread, bad bitches, I had to groove with 'em
Six suits, well dressed
And now I press
CDs for them locos and them little G's
And if you locked in the struggle when you feelin' this
Get your grind on, dawg, all I'm sayin' is
Philly Blunt
Hustlin'
Ballers
Keep on makin' money
Players
Shotcallers
Get your milk and honey
Repeat In the game, tryin' to win it
Represent it
Squattin' tough
Windows tinted
With two H.K.'s I just rented
I'm all up in it
Nathin' but riders roll around with me
They sell a pound with me, even break it down with me (Ya know)
I heavy hustle
For everything I'm earnin' (Earnin')
It ain't no refunds, there's no return to keep my tires
Burnin'
I hit the gas, break a yolk with ya
But I can't smoke with ya, I ain't goin' broke with ya
I be's a grinder
Never get behind the
Punk police (Fuck 'em)
Cause man, they might find her
What I been makin', there's no mistakin'
I got the fiends shakin'
It's big bread that they breakin' (That's right)
I took a ten, turned it into twenty (Into twenty)
Stay out the pen and started stackin' plenty down for me
Gente (Gente)
So holla if you feel me (If you feel me)
Player Jay Tee, yo man, I'm in this til they kill me
Repeat Twice
Well now, there's twenty-eight grams in a zip of cocaine
So player, don't trip, if I grip, the whole thang
And flip it once (What)
And flip it once (Oooh)
I split the blunts (What)
I shoot the dices (Yeah)
Now I can holla on the dollar when it come to scrill
And can you feel
See seven, nine to ten players ain't real
They wanna ride, but they slippin' like a transmission
Squares got the rules missin' (Squares)
Now why they bullshittin'
Mob shit, player (Mob shit)
That's what I does (I smoke)
Two phat bacons and I'm half way buzzed
I sport Lugz and Jordans, see I'm affordin' cause my money's long
And one love to my folks who got the hustle on
Range Rove's sportin' super bad Kangols
Since '89, stackin' paper, never save hoes
Some don't understand
How I pop my P's
I throw it up
To them players if you stack your cheese
Repeat Chours Til Fade
Ha ha
Frost (Frost)
Jay Tee (Jay Tee)
Baby Beesh (Baby Beesh)
Philly Blunt (Philly Blunt)
Yeah
It's for all them players
Hustlers
Ballers
And thugsters
As a youngster, I never knew nada
Smoking on cheeba, and workin' on my pop's old school Impala
Not a scholar, even though I should of hit the books
Heart of a savage stone crook with a gangsta look
On my face
All about the paper chase
I was laced as a teen with a triple beam
Trump tight
I gambled all day and night
Pitbull, cock fights
And shootin' dice
I had to hustle til I pulled a muscle out my body
Looked up to Tony Montana and John Gotti
As times changed, Bigg Frost had to move with 'em
Big bread, bad bitches, I had to groove with 'em
Six suits, well dressed
And now I press
CDs for them locos and them little G's
And if you locked in the struggle when you feelin' this
Get your grind on, dawg, all I'm sayin' is
Philly Blunt
Hustlin'
Ballers
Keep on makin' money
Players
Shotcallers
Get your milk and honey
Repeat In the game, tryin' to win it
Represent it
Squattin' tough
Windows tinted
With two H.K.'s I just rented
I'm all up in it
Nathin' but riders roll around with me
They sell a pound with me, even break it down with me (Ya know)
I heavy hustle
For everything I'm earnin' (Earnin')
It ain't no refunds, there's no return to keep my tires
Burnin'
I hit the gas, break a yolk with ya
But I can't smoke with ya, I ain't goin' broke with ya
I be's a grinder
Never get behind the
Punk police (Fuck 'em)
Cause man, they might find her
What I been makin', there's no mistakin'
I got the fiends shakin'
It's big bread that they breakin' (That's right)
I took a ten, turned it into twenty (Into twenty)
Stay out the pen and started stackin' plenty down for me
Gente (Gente)
So holla if you feel me (If you feel me)
Player Jay Tee, yo man, I'm in this til they kill me
Repeat Twice
Well now, there's twenty-eight grams in a zip of cocaine
So player, don't trip, if I grip, the whole thang
And flip it once (What)
And flip it once (Oooh)
I split the blunts (What)
I shoot the dices (Yeah)
Now I can holla on the dollar when it come to scrill
And can you feel
See seven, nine to ten players ain't real
They wanna ride, but they slippin' like a transmission
Squares got the rules missin' (Squares)
Now why they bullshittin'
Mob shit, player (Mob shit)
That's what I does (I smoke)
Two phat bacons and I'm half way buzzed
I sport Lugz and Jordans, see I'm affordin' cause my money's long
And one love to my folks who got the hustle on
Range Rove's sportin' super bad Kangols
Since '89, stackin' paper, never save hoes
Some don't understand
How I pop my P's
I throw it up
To them players if you stack your cheese
Repeat Chours Til Fade
Writer(s): Paul Hugh Murray Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
