Artist: Lounge Lo f/ Hillside Scramblers, JoJo Pellegrino Album: Drop City S.I.M.P.S.O.N. Song: Garbage Pickas Typed by: Cno Evil [Intro: Lounge Lo] Peace, who this? Yo Pella, what up? Hold on for a second... Peace, this Beezy, who this? Hold on... yo Pella, check it I got D.E. and the boys on the, on the other line We in the garbage, knawImean? Come down and holla at ya boy, though, let's go baby [Lounge Lo] Who you know that'll battle your boss and time up Cut 'em down to size, take the dough and scat in his Porsche It be a nigga from the Staten, of course, all the way live From the back of the building, where, crack is a force You know my guns man, they rapidly cough, and I ain't go no where I'm Park Hill, plus, I'm Staten, New York And where the coke bags are heavy, and it's thirty a pop Hold on, I want it, let me dirty the block Like the kid L.O.B. ain't got it, I got props From the 'burbs in Ohio, to the birds in the projects, nigga Now how you feel about it, and would you bail If I come through, waving the steel and make you come up out it Ya'll niggas crazy like yessa-yessa, bugging out Yes lord, I have M.O.E. niggas slug you out Keisha to D, Frank Bang', I'm with you Tell Dutch come with the weed, and to bring the pistol [INF-Black] Yo, brisk on the scene, the eye beam, wise my money team Keep my eyes keen, time to get spread, like butter cream You can find me in the lobby, with Deuce, Nina and Tommy Hands up, like a robbery, bake a piece of the policy Don't bother me, I move sharply, get you properly I flip like the Hulk, make hits like Paul McCartney I'm an O.G. in a young G's body in a safari Wild side to the scene, Staten Island gritty you feel me With the force of twenty, I come off and spray twenty So many rhymes, so many time, I don't rock skullies Break ya brain waves down, like smoking weed with O.E. Surviving these cold streets, every corner with beef Had to scrabble the concrete, learn to bust my heat Sell cheats and fancy jeeps is all I every dreamed With my homeys, my whole team, touring over seas Let a nigga front, I demonstrate, wait the I.V. [Chorus: JoJo Pellegrino] None M.C.'s is to amaze me out in these streets My right hand'll flip the scam, turn around and pop you Bet you wish you would of known your boy was police Had you in shock when he drew the glock, with cops and locked you Oh, what is going on? Can't I trust any of my peoples these days Me? I'm in this bitch by my delf, nowadays I'm going out for myself [Desert Eagle] Yo, I carry the, weight of the Earth, I'm holding it down Far from the edge, but I'm, close to the ground I bury your clown on impulse, holster the pound In this wickey city we live, bloods roaming about We all rock like the Nazi's, pillage your town Manifest prophecies, homey, look at me now See a smile on my face, but it's really a frown Nothing funny in my hood, what you laughing about? You figure knees hard to buckle, when I cock my heat TNT scope the night, with a chrome that'll meet Street crime, eye hustle, then, order the suite We throw shot at them blue and whites walking the beat DT's cruise the block in a black Caprise Looking for shooters, that shot them dudes last week They dead, gain intelligence from blue and red It falls to the RICO law, rush me out to the feds [JoJo Pellegrino] Gangstas and thugs, drugs, 3-80 snubs, ice grill mugs Hiding his cubs, slugs, underworld plugs and social clubs Mentally mess with the gloves, bust blueberry buds SUV's with thugs, corrupt cops took your judge, constant killings Surveillance cameras in the project buildings Twenty heads, dutches and bottles on the park bench, chilling The starving feeling, resort to juks and robbing, stealing Cuz the bars I've written, spitting like the revolver spinning The cars, the women, the poker face, the cards I'm dealing Hostile takeover conducted by grain, give ya block a makeover You faggots is lame, front stoupe killers Banana clip gorillas, white on white fillers Good life for this, you'll be the thirteen sippers Cosa Nostra composer, Pella move 'em with clippers, yo Chris and Djor jackets, golden slippers, most of us is holding pictures '52 shit, I chip it off, I get my foes to pitch it [Leathafase] Live and direct, from your local hood Where we empty backwoods and dutch goods on the curb I struck with the fur, eyes blurred, words blurred Murder birds, in barber, shoot a produce stooge Chicken get it, where blizzards form, I'm scorching hot Soldier for my flow, by my thoughts, you melt on the spot Rock body covered with maggots, shotty smother with fragments A gun batter that only gets traced by forensics The lens interest, I zero in on a heroine With mere man utility, can be a dear friend The rear end of the burner, smacks you in the thinker You're a slow learner, I got the hook, line & sinker Crooks on the grind, off the meter, the nine millimeter To your spine, a street sweeper You decide or get fried by the heat seeker It's homicide, which provided by the grym reaper, let's collide [Chorus]