Contraband - Fred The Godson, Friday October

I got the whole crew with me, ounces for 2 50

You could believe it or not, it’s far from ripley’s

Please don’t try to tempt me, the trigger I squeeze it empty

Homie fatigues at ease, you ain’t convincing be

I smoke good weed and get them packs out

Don’t look at me different, I came up out the frat house

High side weird look, and gazelle frames

Niggas know me by Friday October cold name

Back in the days that fiends doing the fuckin soul train

Ever since my little cousin put me on to the dope game

I’m just saying that I know thangs

I’m OG in these streets, I listen to Johnny Coltrane

Have that work for these hez, they call me raw game

In front of the peas, blowing trees with a gold chain

New York City greedy fifth’s on stand

Never know when you gotta use that contraband

My whole crew good with the pan

This is soul food, getting good amount of yams

Before you leave here, count your grams

Baking soda bubble that smuggle contraband

Contraband, this is contraband

I’m a monster with this money, this is contraband

I throw some packs to my man

Tell the law fuck taxes, this is contraband

I started off a young crack dealer

Now I’m all in the magazines

And all I knew is that hustle hustle by any means

Let me take em back from the start, back to my sonogram

Got to look up in my mama belly and found contraband

I caught em up town and then I checked em

He wasn’t living right, so my nigga left him

All these niggas living that life, till a nigga test em

Like all these bitches love me

We kick it like David Beckham

Crack music, hit maker,

Fred The God, October OZ was the beat maker

I beat the case what I feel for

Mama say she ready to fuck, what she need a pill for

It’s not a game when I will kill y’all

Hip hop is back to that era, era of real ball

And TVM was the movement

Let your pistol go or keep moving, it’s real nigga

My whole crew good with the pan

This is soul food, getting good amount of yams

Before you leave here, count your grams

Baking soda bubble that smuggle contraband

Contraband, this is contraband

I’m a monster with this money, this is contraband

I throw some packs to my man

Tell the law fuck taxes, this is contraband

Whoever know, my revenue pay from ex to dust

Something like a revenue

My leather new, I get 7 a scale

Learn to work with a bird like Kevin Mccall

I talk to these birds like Doctor Doolittle

I’ll pop you with a bird that doctor do little

Your block could do little, I ain’t doing the counting

But you re up with me, it’s just a pale of balance

And you see me every other week

You niggas is fucking weak

Get bread, not whole weed will pump a nigga

These little niggas take a whole week to pump a nigga

I’m talking quarters, halfs bein broken and chokin

I love my daughter’s laugh

When I do business with cash and earn that cake

Like the NBA draft, it’s just a sturdy handshake

My whole crew good with the pan

This is soul food, getting good amount of yams

Before you leave here, count your grams

Baking soda bubble that smuggle contraband

Contraband, this is contraband

I’m a monster with this money, this is contraband

I throw some packs to my man

Tell the law fuck taxes, this is contraband