Feat. Roc Marciano

(Verse: Sim-E)
Yo, I pun black in woods, bron' cratch the hoodz
Swong acts the wood, dun' ask the hood
Sun wracks is good, why yungs pack da sugar
Then act more hollywood than act so good
See me strapped with &*() in the lack with snubs
Drink yack in clubs, congrats and hugs
They said they lie?! My New Yorkers dead
So you tap with barz while we keep it alive an' scratch unpluggeds
Unmatched dup, shots slapped the cous'
In da audio is the only time you crack wit thugs
Pourin' liquor on the ground from patcha crub
All the people at the cop behind the gat, murdid
Man, that's not love, mask and glove, a blood bank
We got more packs of bloods, as longs as the man keep givin' us
Whips, cracks and hoofs for ^&*()
That's a master good tha!!

(Hook x2)
Oldest profession is the sole progression
The soul possession, opposite of sole possession
So save 'em Hill Maries for an old confession
Yo, you're reppin' real hip-hop, low direct

(Verse: Sim-E)
Aye, yo, I met XP thru mutual friends
To love on, he could see me in da future where ends depend on
The chicky with the speed whacha spend
Or if you blow a true Coupe on a Benz
Come car fairy to belief, respect
Scary for me? Down south my sons bury for heat
Murdersome feet in the ground while burnin' 'em street
If you ain't ludicrous, why you disturbin' da peace?
We prefer to fight you on like a man, than beat ya down
With our hands on the body, slam ya in the Wild Wild East
We can take you to the park like a wi-fi beast
See who got the best sniles and beatsters off the streets
Clowns &*() wid da three rings circus, if a four pound
Kill ya you'll bleed on purpose
We dead &*() thrust ya wit a dread not
Tell 'em bad Roc! 'Move a muscle, boy, you bed not'
That's my BK counterpart, we tear towns apart
We spray miles of dart, Slim-E found the mark
And I relieve it on the face of this biz
Cause the way I'm whippin' moppers is a disgrace for the kids

(Hook x2)
Oldest profession is the sole progression
The soul possession, opposite of sole possession
So save 'em Hill Maries for an old confession
Yo, you're reppin' real hip-hop, low direct

(Verse: Roc Marciano)
Yo, Bot Leg old, Roze's poor
Fours blow off like Koltrane's on
Cocaine wars, this is more like the old days draw
Left ya with the soze war
Gt banged on old Ojay songs, spray kay with gloves
OG war
Don't chay the shades, blown straight off
^&*() the chain out, stain os wars
Strays of chord layed on floors
Erases slit face engages applause
For way you just sought, we labor it forth
Slayed 'em, what you see is flame from the torch
Slaves are bought, drain for a court
Trained for war, my terrain is coarse
You remains a corpse, related default
When haters talk, take it with a grain of salt
Muthaf&*()

(Hook x2)
Oldest profession is the sole progression
The soul possession, opposite of sole possession
So save 'em Hill Maries for an old confession
Yo, you're reppin' real hip-hop, low direct