Frost - Milk And Honey lyrics

rate me

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

Hustlin'

Ballers

Keep on makin' money

Players

Shotcallers

Get your milk and honey

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

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