Hive (feat. Vince Staples & Casey Veggies)

Promise Heron I'll put my fist up after I get my dick sucked Quick buck, maybe a gold chain With that fucking flow that s-s-so belittles men They tentatively tend to turn and go when I am finished Stone cold, hardly fucking with these niggas, nigga listen The description doesn't fit, if not a synonym of menace, then forget it In turn, these critics and interns admitting the shit spit It just burn like six furnaces writ it It affixed learning them digits, and simultaneously "Dispelling one-trick-pony myths, isn't he?" One adolescent, fucking six-nigga energy And crawling down fax like a rich nigga centipede Crack ceramic and slap a hand out of cash account Stamp and shouting, thrashing, these niggas done let the Kraken out Crack-a-lackin', like snap, crackle, poppin' your ammo off Hide your face, and throw your flannels off, Sweatshirt, nigga (Sweatshirt, nigga) '87 roof top, Bronson Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw chronic (Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up) (Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas teeth loose) Bruh, I don't fuck with no cop (Rolling with that flow swamp) Catch me over stove top (Rapping to that coke rock) (Passionless in old Jive clothing With them doors wide open) (Dim the floor lights, focused) Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch From a city that's recession-hit With stress niggas could flex metal with, peddle to rake pennies in Desolate testaments trying to stay Jekyll-ish But most niggas Hyde, and Brenda just stay pregnant Breaking news: death's less important when the Lakers lose There's lead in that baby food, heads try to make it through Fish-netted legs for them eyes that she cater to Ride dirty as the fucking sky that you praying to So here I sit, eye in the pyramid God spit it like it's truth serum in that beer and then Disappear again, reappear bearded On top of a lear, steering it into the kids' ear again Provider of the backdrop music For the crack rock user and the mascot, Earl Rawer than the skinned knee cap on the blacktop Salivary glands, lighter fluid for the matchbox Striking, wait, wait, who the fuck you badder than? Boy oh boy, I'm bad as burnt pollo off the grill and shit Spitter of the Little Nick, nimble, rickrolling Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, plus I pillage shit '87 roof top, Bronson Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw chronic (Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up) (Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas teeth loose) Bruh, I don't fuck with no cop (Rolling with that flow swamp) Catch me over stove top (Rapping to that coke rock) (Passionless in old Jive clothing With them doors wide open) (Dim the floor lights, focused) Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch Quit with all that tough talk, bruh, we know you niggas ain't about shit Come around, we gun 'em down, bodies piled, Auschwitz Bulletproof outfits, weapons concealed I'm ready to kill, so test it, all my weapons is real Selling thizz, couldn't tell him what the recipe is Got 'em wishing that they never gave these weapons to kids, cheers Send chills up spines of fat bitches after Shows throwing out sandwiches, niggas get it how they Live and I live for money, other words, I'm getting money Little boy told me when it's time to ride, they'll send them for me Ain't nobody scaring me, niggas ain't prepared for heat Tools hit like pool sticks, the way I cue shit If this was '88, I would have signed to Ruthless Nine-four, would've had them walking down Death Row First is when the best go, hate is what the rest do Voice inside my head told me, "Wet 'em if they test you" So it's Raging Waters season That yomper big as Larry Johnson, leave your momma seedless Everybody hard until it's only God they seeing Kittens soft but in they songs be trapping hard as Jeezy, I don't believe it But to each his own, I ain't tripping long as I can reach the chrome Heat your home like Southern California Gas, police pass Tell 'em "Free Smalls, " off Palm with the heat drawn Strapped up long as the chief for police armed Raised where the beasts are, north of the Beach A couple streets past Baby J, bony niggas spraying Ks Ruger with the pork face, Jewish for the court case Here to save you niggas from the sorbet, Coldchain Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch

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