Lyrics of 'Mo Momey (feat. Dirty Rat)' by Styliztik
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Yeah, classics
It's true LA
Back as a little lad, tears on my pillow,had me
Workin' the block, hard as a brillo pair,he
Searchin' the block high off a nickel-bag
I searched my room, found my chrome mini-mag
Now we own one and won't give my pistol back
Guess he didn't figure, I want the hate 'zine
Mama said I'm 18, so I gotta shake scene
So I move on my daydreams
Like the A-Team
Mo money, mo money, mo
Mo burden, Mo burden, mo
Not funny, not funny, no
Gotta have heat, this world is so cold
I'm the young Mr. T, with THC
All through my respiratory, that's mandatory
Self-explanatory
The black MacGyver
Wolfpack Messiah
The Rappin' sire, spit
Rapid fire, that's a strap
No heat in these streets
That's a wrap
With no rap for us, you can trust
It's a home robbery, and we wrap you up. yep
All my homies kept guns, so I kept one
The hood had love for me, like I was a stepson
Even when I'm spaced out, high as the jetsons
Not Elroy, do not tell boy
But you do not know
Cause you do not help the boy
Heat smelt the boy
Boy will grow, jails will blow
Half your brains out so to hell you go. Yep
No jewels on my neck, but my minds an emerald
Police shine lights tryin to find new criminals
I don't speak to y'all, but I rhyme subliminal
With y'all street soldiers, and I'm the general
My physical is pitiful, pistols make you invisible
My livings ain't livable, I slang from my living room
And I know that my livers doomed
We all in the killer mood, life wasn't silver spoons
No Ricky Schroeder, just Dickie Dozier, Pac
And we thug unorthodox
I wanna change, but its hard to abort the block
They trained a young champ in his sport to box
Dead bodies, rigor mortis, the corpse of rot
Don't report to the cops from the porch when it's hot
Tryin' to watch everything, like reporters watch
I'ma rap til this hot damn recording stop
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