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Georgia Avenue. 3
Billy Woods
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Yo, Africa holler back
Yeah
Youngins stole the speakers, acapella when we box reefers
'97 Acura two-seater, all on the curve, street sweeper
Wrinkled wife beater, no heater, passenger seat
Reclined off some creeper, hit tic-tock for two liters
Bacardi dark, probably sparked the bark, Billy rides for narcs
Georgia Ave' swimming with sharks
Dipping on back streets it's an art
Dirt roads and the sky lark, windows dark counting
Deutsch marks, Franks, Pesos, youngins do the limbo for dough
Like, how low can you go before you face to face with the bones?
Negroes stayed fros, that the new millennium b-boy pose
Face down, you know how it goes, plain clothes
Quarry drugs are guns, lift your tongue, they got warrants on my lungs
Like make it easy, son, tell us if you got some, do we look that dumb?
A'ight, I got lyrics in megatons, re-up, dodge and duck
VSOP in plastic cups, iced out in plastic cuffs, that's what's up
Youngins scared, but talk tough, that's how tools get bust
That's why Billy knock wood for love, lawyers the only ones
Seeing fast bucks, niggas is mostly stuck, searching for
Bloody diamonds in the rough
Still riding the bus watching my life rust
Fisticuffs a dead man's bluff, mom's like, "Enough's enough"
Damn right, late night with bloody eyesight, I write PennAir tight
Shut down open mics or dream pipes, hazy days, weeks blazed
Pavlov a page, for every nigga a cage, disgruntled ex-slave
Hold 12-gauge, all hail Billy, rap pays...
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