The Soul - Smoke DZA, Vado

I smack all y’all niggas

And niggarrettes

Word to Ghost

Uh

Good business I take pride in making great moves

Wear a skully in the summer yet I stay cool

Knew cats that curved the bag so they could stay true

Been hungry so long they starting to hate food

Heat on me bullshit, my weight move

I was on the 'Lo they was on J. Crew

I was on the dank they was on K2

They was moving eighths, I had eight full

Pounds of the raw, hand it off make 3 points or ounce it out and get yours

Give 'em a couple grams over, they gon' feel you

Can’t give you all of this game might have to kill you

Barbecue and milldew, you know you done fucked up right?

Where’s Bill Duke

Fake nigga no matter how you dress it up, it’s still you

Make 'em dissapear I’m skillfull

Watch 'em appear, under my (?)

Can’t even trust niggas be out to get you

Don’t let your last meal be the hand that fed you

My Mexican homie flip the work good, he used to wrestle

Shit got hot over there he had to refuge

Real hate over fake love any day

Real hate over fake love any day

Every man at your man like every chick ain’t your chick

Understand where we stand you can’t sit where we sit

We started off hand in hand, then moved to brick after brick

You a fan or you fam young niggas quick to forget

Drug dealers scouting like who got it to send it out

Breaking down the ounces make samples and give it out

Live in the mountains phone service be in and out

Bag full of birds the only way we could chicken out

Try to manage your vibe energy

A fake friend could do more damage than five enemies

Barely see me with beef like fried Kennedy

But bring your instrument we could have us a live symphony

In a tight alley, weed be like Cali’s

Gunplay scenes I squeeze like Mike Lowry

All you see is sticks and signs a light rally

Red track suit, new Swizz beat, white Bally’s

Vado

Real hate over fake love any day

Real hate over fake love any day