Trading Places - Intellectual

[Intro: Sheek Louch]

Wu Block

Ayo Ghost I'm about to go in right here son

Yo there's no place to hide, tints on the window

Three fifty-seven pointed out the ride, treat 'em like a dutch

Dump his insides, blood on the door, blood on the floor

They ready for the battle I'm prepared for the war

Money on stupid, soldiers on call

Follow you for real, chase niggas through the mall

Rolls on the table I'll show you how to ball

Don don I blow weed on the weave with no shirt on I got tricks up my sleeve

Suffocate flow make it hard to breathe, I don't want that bitch I'm just that hard to leave

Yea, you see the goons that I bring, D-Block chillin' with the wallaby king

My Staten Island niggas they gon' let that shit ring, my dudes locked up hold it down in the bing

Police think I'm carrying like every kind of drug, I just say what's up, no dap, no hug

I just keep it movin', I see they all fake but they don't really want beef they like Common Sense and Drake

Ayo yo Ghost check this out right, I just killed one of your classics

It's only right you kill one of mines, you got me son?

Let's go

When Nas made one love I was on the bench still

Mask on, contemplating a kill with one glove

In deep thought, paper bag cover my o.e

Heard they got long nickels slangin' the four deep

Uh, Medina niggas, Gowanus and Park Slope

Mad heavy, cashmere low coats

Pumpin' at the joy spot, stepped to this fiend

Served him from Queen, he had a nose like Floyd Pops

Armed him with a trey deuce, tell him to knock twice

Tell 'em you want two, show 'em your nice bike

The door knob turned, somebody cracked it

Bernard walked in, I'm right behind him with the all black ratchet

Surprise bitches, welcome to Staten

The first nigga that flinched I blast him, the fiends laughing

Foot locker bags unwrapped raw, stacks on the table

The nigga I shot beginnin' to crawl, he in his boxers

Seen the ounce on the plate with oxys, baggin' up mad shake

Yo B, yo watch him, while I search the fridge, cabinets and the back room

Half a brick in the grits box and the vacuum

Drugs is what we all about, cash and it's all around

Tell them niggas to get on they face and pat 'em down

I got the goods let's be out son, slingin' of a nigga head

Word to everything they get out done, let's kill these niggas