Organized Rime Pt. 2 - Shabazz the Disciple

Yo god, I’m tryna stack and get a castle, cook lyrical keys in the lab

Bag 'em on 2 inch plates, DAT’s too

Organized rime, time is money

Hustle nickels of vinyl, cassettes are dimes and a CD’s a twenty

Yo, I used to roll with the thugs, who sold drugs

And put slugs in dealers who turned squealers

The cap pealers, high rollers, big money wheelers

Niggas who’ll spank a nigga, in front of his moms without feelings

The transporters, importers and exporters

Putting hits out on P.O.'s, judges and sargeants and news reporters

Most of the Gods I used to do crimes with

Ended up in Sing-Sing infirmary, getting their asshole stitched

Wifey with a switch, ya godfather turned snitch

They up North, while we out in New York, trying to get rich

I worked my way up from grindin and measurin

Credit card schemes and crimes and embezzlin

I kept climbin Sugar Hill to get the treasures and

Striving for diamonds and a million dead presidents

Some left murder weapons, fingerprints and evidence

Hot hit with 25, the feds sabotaged their residence

Scrambling to get the cream, kept the rap dream

Living on 2 planes of reality caught in between

Wanted the best of both worlds chasing material

Snake niggas play the priest

Throwing the dirt at my burial

My world consisted of sex, lust, money and l’s

Now I get lifted off exodus 20 and 12

My role models, were the brothers on the corner who sold bottles

Out on parole the mind and soul of aristotle

Red Hook was like a mafia flick

Never got to cop me a brick

We used to plot to stick poppi and shit

Sitting pretty in a white land, my man had the right plan

Flights to get his head right in white sands

Sipping cristal, pimping a pistol

Till his ass got shipped up to fishcale

He used to cop 2 bricks watch his chips pile

Now he sit in a cell, praying for a mis-trial

When DEA rushed the crib we flushed an ounce on them

Handcuffed in the hall and we still tried to bounce on them

Hit rock bottom then we catch another loan shark

Scale our rocks, to get a 8 ball hit the pawn shop

Street dreams weighing a cake on a triple beam

Heat schemes, playing for papes my team crippled fiends

Investing money into street stocks, my peeps used to keep Glocks

Slap you up and give you speed knots

In the diamond district yanking ice chains

The Gods used to heist trains

Then late at night stick the dice games

5 bombs of lah and rock up in the mailbox

C.O.'s had niggas sell rocks from their cell blocks

Most of the gods got bagged and got indicted

Some had open cases out of state and they got extradicted

Some tried to fight it, blew trial on their appeal

Got uncorrect bails, for smuggling guns and direct sales