9ten Mobb - Dirt Road Kingz Intro

Jumped off the porch to a dirt road kingz fit exclusive shoe game mean jewels chunky clear as Vaseline it aint hard to see money aint a thing count it up blow the Cush in da sky Cashmere Carry On G5 day one’s who I rock with 9Ten Mobb upper echelon click thick certified with the stick hit’em from long range Mike Vick hit a bad bitch only if she thick nope I fuck’em all that last bar was counterfeit throat goat I need all the spit bring a friend tag team it stock exchange where my money ball pull up to the bank in a Uhole so many dead white guys mite catch a case rubber bands tight Franklin got a blue face all that ass no waist just met to face first 48 park the Ghost took the Wraith chauffeur I behind silk drapes

And I’m tried of bring humble boy I’m in the ring and I’m ready to rumble Afro Thunder I Knock a nigga right into summer if his girl throw a jab best believe I’m cut her I’m young country pimp words smooth like butter Top Flight in this game you don’t know nam notta kinda short but got D call me PJ Tucker yall I play my role nigga and I still get buckets we in the league yall and we aint playing small ball word to god my nigga just ask Jon Wall did the best to make the team still cut her off young Tommy in the game I got the draws dog

And been getting’em I been clippin’em knock the pussy out the park I Ken Griffen’em I’m fucking ten or betta da black Huge Huffner I’m moving ten or better da young black stepper neck writs froze skate Gretzky knock yo main bitch down then her bestie I make money off
everything Estey I get money being broke is my pet peeve if you aint talking money you talking Morse code lames slip slow waiter bottles pronto auto start the foreign like I’m German born GPS the money you know where I’m going

80’s baby never lacking on my confidence smoking with my pinky out cocky grinding hard as fuck nigga on my Kevin Gates 9Ten Mobb coming soon sorry for the wait

Dirt road kingz paint wet looking like you broke a sweat yeah Tarheel intruders baby blew your brain out the back of you medulla like a parachuter three-point challenge I keep a pair of shooters you fumbled the bag Dennis Shrudler you sleeping on Freddy Cruger I arm
wrestler with God slap box with Jesus shook hands with lucifer it’s the return of the lyrical thesis well-spoken into existence the booth is my pulpit this is my religion holy water on tongue the flows the miracle the holy spiritual med physical literal lyrical ritual same city as Jamine but I’m not J Cole I’m dry ice I’m colder than cold where there is smoke there is fire I been smothering slow my struggle my hustle my hustle my struggle get on my level the mobb is invincible.

Written by:
ANTONIO SPEARS

Publisher:
Lyrics © TuneCore Inc., Songtrust Ave

Lyrics powered by Lyric Find