Spliff N Wessun - Sean Price, Ruste Juxx

Yeah, Sean P

Nahmean?

On Kingston Ave, in Crown Heights in the city

You know, Ruste Juxx

Haha, yeah, check it out

Ayo, ayo, listen

It go stop with the bullshit

Playing game niggas hopscotch when the tool click

Don’t make me pop ya'

Ya' black eye blue bitch, Frank Sinatra

You see ST and you be thinking rasta

Think it’s peace and love but I think he’ll drop ya'

Fake gangsta rappers got you thinking mobster

It’s a fact you an actor, thinking Oscar’s, yo

That’s when I slap this jerk

Take his Jesus piece, send him back to Catholic church

Niggas actin' like my motherfuckin' gat don’t work

'Til you hit and then collapse in the dirt and screamin' «That shit hurt»

Motherfuckin' right, that shit hurt

Niggas play tackle football with a plastic Nerf

Bitches with dreadlocks and, drapes on they back

Suck dick, plus they make biscuits from scratch

Yo, yo, yo

Niggas dial 9−1-1

I told the Smif-Wess one nine, one one

.45s and P229's

Storyline, it begins once upon a crime

Rustee Juxx in the gutter like stashed crack

Any block, any bitch, I’ma smash that

Yo, yo, ayo fuck Force 1's, Juxx stomping in Gore-Tex

Blaze up, you walk me through a vortex

Size three, Brooklyn playalistic

Mossberg music duke, don’t get it twisted

Ah, vainglorious

This is protected, by the B, the C, and the C

Sissies

Yo, yo

Ayo I shine, you shine

In this day in time, we pop off ya' head with the nine

Nah, we not soft, go 'head with the lies

Duke you a knockoff, ya' thread and designs is

Off the table

I’m dead broke nigga, they cuttin' off my cable

The criminal of the year, yeah I’m back to rob

So take ya' shine off, when you see me on the job

Due to the MAC, I’m strapped, ready to clap

React, stop runnin' ya' yap, and run ya' stack

Jaw carryin' chop and blow gems

Slash you in ya' Benz, we stoppin' gold rims

Pumpin' on the block, them rocks that glow stems

And I’m rollin' on 10, the size of my Timbs

Let me get a turkey sandwich and a bottle of juice please

A dollar change left, fuck it, give me two loosies

We ain’t got no trap

Three songs one session, it’s econo-rap

Spit, rip a nigga ass, raw rap on the reg

Catch me in the weed spot, clicking on the dread

See me in the flesh, real liftin' ya' chain

All you feel is the flame, fifth in ya' frame

In the cut wit' ya' bitch, feelin' up on her butt and her tits

She wanna fuck but, she can start suckin' this dick

I got a clique that, move more crowds than Eric B

With a shotgun, air hole TEC and Desert E’s