J4y King - Santa Cruz Shredder

Loud in my Santa Cruz
Break it down bitch we rolling
Know that I got it
My niggas we don’t stop scrolling
D’usse colada
And my spliff buss like pinatas
Niggas be talking checking temperatures
Bitch who hotter
Running laps on niggas
Breathing room breaking
Out da box my nigga
Can’t box this nigga
I box these niggas
Run a circle round ‘em
X box these niggas OKAY
Keep it real imma PS nigga
Shawty tryna play with my penis nigga
Kill ‘em dey gon mourn
Dey gon grieve a nigga
Put em on a screen like SONY nigga
Brooklyn to Queens So NY nigga
Son Ice nigga, I’m cold my nigga
Move the N over I’m so nice nigga
How many times can a nigga say nigga got damn
Fresher than a tic tac, car fully loaded
So it come with da knick knacks
Joint in back packed
Silenced but it still got a kick back
Don’t get knocked back aye
She Playing with the dick so long
Had tell her give the stick back
Lot of ya trash
I think y’all should ditch rap
I’m from NY so I don’t really say cap
But if it rhyme imma throw it in a nice rap
Like niggas think’ they better but that’s cap
Fronting like they really got it nigga big cap
Hair free so it black tee no cap
If I’m rocking it’s a fitted or trap cap
I got the bounce
I got the recipe
None these niggas can compare or fuck with me
I got my foot in the game
Now you stuck with me
Kicking my feet up
I do this shit comfortably
Smoking da gas, Belaire Brut for the bubbly
Wifey here just for company
Hold it down,
Give her piece of the company ah
Loud in my Santa Cruz
Break it down bitch we rolling
Know that I got it
My niggas we don’t stop scrolling
D’usse colada
And my spliff buss like pinatas
Niggas be talking checking temperatures
Bitch who hotter
Tryna ball like espy, teste
Tell me why would you test me
Put ya bitch on a bus like Next B
Kill this shit then I run up the next beat
Hit ‘em in the head like vonage
This shit hot like porridge
And I got more in the storage
And I got more in the storage
I say they gassed like soda
Tryna run the game
Tell ‘em pass the controller
Paper in my pockets
Feeling like a folder
Bitches getting wet
They loving the poetry
Bars with the flow
Call it flowetry
Spitting that wizardy
Bitch im the wickedest
Tell who sick as this
Tell who wanna diss
Extendo on the choppper
Who want a clip
In the gate with lions
Who want a clip
I got hella chips I get you dipped
Scissor on the cord this shit is clipped
Killing this shit Tom is weeping and crying
Checking the pulse I know it’s dead
Look in my eyes I’m seeing red
Shit I’m tweaking like off of the meds
Locked in I aint talking dreads
Game of thrones put they head on a stick
Fuck a headstone I’ll piss on dat shit
You a little disrespectful ass bitch
I’m in ya crib disrespecting ya shit
Send my niggas to go run in ya shit
Imma fill the body up with the clips
Imma kill ‘em throw the
Man fuck it im done rapping

Written by:
JIM STEPHEN

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid, Songtrust Ave

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