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Artist: M.M.O. f/ L.R.C.
Album:  All About the Money
Song:   Street Corner C.E.O.'s
Typed by: Cno Evil

Now as the streets say it's hot in the hood, it's official
What's good is that, I'm good wit the flow, good wit the pistol
If I pull it up, I should of, I could of, I'mma hit you
My street corner soldiers all focused wit toasters
In the studio, gats hidden in speakers and sofas
Keep my enemy's close and bring beef to a closure
My career chose me to stay grinding for life
Don't ask me to freestyle for free, now I rhyme for a price
Past my time, getting nice, masterminding a heist
Chopping some cook up, plotting a juks up, I got a hook up
From vests to chrome, to burnt out cell phones
Blowing, without being well known or making jail home
Don't blame the game or the hood, crime's crazy
Flunked out good girls and the good time ladies
Street corner C.E.O.'s, should have my own TV show
I put that work in for that easy dough

[Chorus: Trigg-nomm]
This money comes and goes, so does these hoes
And these streets we cop and go, that's how we roll
Cuz this money comes and goes, I thought you know
Fuck wit street corner C.E.O.'s, and M.M.O.

Flow like the front of 20-0-7, in the late '80's
Me, Pearl, Born and Gietto T wit eight o's
You know about C.I.G., you know we take dough
And gun play? Is like a every day say so
Though the plan was rap, my grands was stacked
Cuz I got grip and spit clips for these handicaps
Closed caskets, mans be handicapped
Unload ratchets, or catch this candy wrap
Citrus sweet centered, wit weed twisted in it
Jeep tinted, so D's don't see who in it
See we going against what we known since
We've grown to be crooks, killas, bangers and pimps
Hustlas, drug pushers, gangstas and gents
From juvenile delinquents to leaving no prints
Like, when Little Mikey from Marcy got murdered
Check statistics, I spit shit you never heard of


Now if you got a bill for real, you best to clear it
Or I'mma have to pull my steel, you gonna wear it
If you wanna owe or not, show no concern
When your bitch get burned, I hope a lesson is learned
My blessing's concerned, though I keep a weapon tucked firm
Molesting your kids, pick and choose who push wigs
Be like, Manson for this, I shoot pigs
Get dough like Rah Diggs, wit a flow like Can I Live

Now what ya'll claim to be,  don't pertain to me
It's plain to see, I bang heat, dangerously
vanish, and marage, your whole entourage
On the running at large, when the mack discharge
L.R. and Trigga, Trigga and L
The more produc on the block, the bigger the scale
Push a big SL, clientele on swoll
Coney Island warriors, for real, now you know, for sure