Sour Hour Songtext
von Smoke DZA

Young nigga from the illest block, them harlem niggas get it poppin′ that's the realest drop
More than my nigga Fred, dour doobies getting lit, sipping ′gnac to the head
That was my man, I told him wait til I get to this bread
Took one to the head, fuck, I never see him again
Inhale the reefer harder
I was raised up hard, but you can see and feel my aura
The streets is a mess nigga I'm blessed to even see tomorrow
So Killa this one is for you, keep your spirit around I got a lot of living to do
See I gotta feed my kids and em' too, lot a load to cop, shows to rock, and hoes to screw
This is my sour hour marathon (echo)
Uh, they bullshit, babble on
Less talking, more smoking, carry on
Smoke up, I hope you bring your lungs with you
Shorty I ain′t tripping,
Your friend she can come with you
Just bring some papers, She sending me flicks of her tits, with smiley faces
She dig my rugby flavors, before them other niggas did it
You think I was a player? RLFC
Yeah a lot of niggas jack, I think it′s quite foul
They follow the trend, but for me, it's my lifestyle
Anytime you see me, it′s a fresh one
Adidas, raw labels, or some foam posits, check him
Green house sour
Got my higher than a Jetson
Spacely, Sprocket
You smoke pinheads, we smoke rockets
Lame niggas still smoking up the profit in your packs
Lawsuit blew it done fucked up all the scratch
What you running when your hamstring popped?
I shitted on you niggas now it's back to the pot