Peter Luger - Billy Woods, Bond

Shadow pocket hit the 718, like 510 and fill in your tape

Time to rap hella great, drives to keep Sway and Tek away

Or we all start to hallucinate, I rap long enough to dig a whole

In your crates, copping big button drugs, you got a dub and shake

Thems the breaks, dodge city got my go-go dub plate

Niggas like fuck Billy, he still owe me from '98

Oh man you fitting to menestrate, take this roach

Now we straight, youngin' you know mom still eying my cape

I just known rocket’ll late, up top got me out of shape

But I can go back to squatting with weight, put race in jakes

Sorry, slang blurry, I mean the bowl but honestly

I’d rather do shoes with the high and dro, watch the Barry White pro

Sipping ice cold, nice with milkshake flows, the brain freeze MCs

Kids nasty reminiscing over golden shower

Talk smooth enough to move a kilo or flower

Time Square rush hour, big gun, little men, and cowards

Paid back spitamat coming for hours, the Charles Bronson conscience

Hold up, I know you ain’t still talking that nonsense

N.Y. is full of beef now, Africa don’t have sacred cows

I’m in the big chair like Mao, sixty-nine stolen rollies

‘Bout to hate you now, it’s a lot of mumble heads talking ‘bout Pac

And flunk niggas trying to take five shots

Got the vest to match the Glock, couple rounds how you ran old block

You go there with them undercover cops

Same one you need just to go to the spot

No wonder you say you hot, backwoods I’ll be with the trees negro please

I got six degrees separation between me and these MCs

Mostly with Dennis bottle, Baldwin novel, chilling in the

The words ring hollow, copied and borrowed

They’ll be better tomorrow, but right now darkness reigns

I got nothing to lose but your chains, affiliated with ice in my veins

Frying pan to the flames, fuck jacking beats, we need planes

Destination John Brown things, they hang him in the rain

Babylon use they brain, cotton or cocaine, a rose by any other name

007 what I tell you, right now I got this all day

Fully automatics for your cabbage, Peter Luger

It’s what’s for dinner, medium rare black ninjas

Only corpses and winners, let’s eat