Meek Mill - Boss Freestyle lyrics

[Intro] Free my n***a lil BH [Verse 1] I fell in love with the streets, yeah I was 16 (youngin) Grinding like Clipse, tryna get cream (let's get it) A little n***a in the field, was doing big things Big hammers, big work, and had a big team It was popping round the time we had it in green The whip was dirty, narcs tryna sweep the strip clean Plus we had that wife dirt, you know, that Christine Aculera, that should dare her, make a rick fiend Go broke tryna fix dreams Watching n***as cook the coke it looked like whipped cream And I was tryna get cake (I was hungry) My old auntie told me just wait But I was crooked, tryna get straight The hundreds with the big face The money made me feel great Like Tony the Tiger, when he get flakes Talking the frosted ones My heart was so cold had to defrost my lungs Get [?] paranoid, and go hard with guns Ready to squeeze on any n***a with ease Nightmares of being murdered I believed How the judge gon blame me Cause when them n***as come to k** me nobody gon save me Label me a felon ‘fore you label me as telling Upstate jail and tuna soup and getting melon Tell em, was raining yesterday but now it's hailing It's d**h up in the air, you can smell it Man they got the reaper round the corner tryna catch a body The hungry youngins up the street they tryna catch somebody Slipping, they got their smith and they gon stretch some bodies If they don't get paid, somebody gon get sprayed And one love to my n***as in the twist cage No commissary chow without the lid tray Guard spit in it, but you can feel your rib cage Touch it so you're like f** I got to live today You n***as f**ing with them hoes, I'm f**ing with them Benjis I be cutting up them O's, f**ing with that stove That sh** you made last week, I f**ed it up on clothes Spend half of that on Prada and the other half on dros Woah! (woah Meek Milly!) I said n***a do you, Imma do me That haze it got him in the zone like a 23 Them n***as need a smoke, we got that oohwee Purp by the pound, ounces of the sour D We 32 deglizzys, compact to max Sliding through they hood, turn it down, back to back Looking for these p**ys, now where these f*ggots at Skis, dickies, and hoodies show where they trapping at Murder murder graveyard, funeral service for em Embalming floor, obituary and hearses for em That choppa do him, his mama mourning and hurting for him We collect bosses, they flunkies, whoever working for em [Outro] Yeah, Meek motherf**ing Milly You n***as know what it is BH we straight to the motherf**ing day that I die n***a Free my n***a lil GT franchise we got the game on motherf**ing lock And if you think you f**ing with me n***a, hit that Stu Hart And get your f**ing game right Plain and simple Boss