Steven Adams - Back Alley Flow lyrics

[Solo Intellect:] Yeah Hey yo... Solo Coming to the stage we got $tevie Adam$, man, f** Stacey Coming with that Kamehame-HA flow, straight from Homewood: home of the hoes who come and do the whole hood PSA, tell everybody, n***a "this an emergency." Call the police, he definitely ain't playing with you n***as man [Verse 1: $tevie Adam$] My name is $tevie I know they f**ing see me You-C, wish I had a Ferrari Skirt, skirt up in a Honda Mr. "Need a f**ing check." When you find your niche, people get upset When you doing good and borderline rich in spirit I hope you feel the six dots to yo head like Krillin I'm just playing, I mean mind, bodies, holding double it Honestly, I don't like they f**ing attitude Positivity, I really really like yo shoes Loyalty, Soul Rebel til I f**ing drop And the only way you can stop me is candle lifting over stove tops I got them hooked Ba** pro shop That n***a not even hungry, wished I made a double entendre Kame, kame, HA!, HA! I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at they work ethic It's pathetic I got the grape Kool-Aid now, come and get it It takes patience, As-salamu alaykum I'm tryna live forever [Solo Intellect:] Whoo n***a talk about that grape soda, give me that Fanta Anyway, but coming to the stage we got Brattnae One of the baddest MCs on this side of the Milky Way, while she over there looking like one So girl won't you come on, chocolateness. Come and show them why you the hardest chick Show them why you shutting all the most of these, so called rap females down in the game sh**. Haha! Why don't you give me your number too while you at it. Don't flage [Verse 2: Brattnae] La, la, la, aye This that trap sh**, real rap diss Say I'm going hard, this practice These metaphors and these similes With a full [?] like your enemies Mini mi's tryna k** [?] f**ing up like I'm clumsy Taking n***as no custody No courtesy, unless you purchase this I like to hold it down Last time I hit the stage, I swear I shut it down Back down, back alley, top down Lots of black, no mild Lost souls, lost out, in the woods full of hopes and dreams But in the wood tryna make the cream, I swear it's not what it seems We was made to fail not succeed So little momma keep the talent, with the back balance And keep yo fans going bananas when you in the camera The haters love it when you down in pajamas Or all down in the mirror, tryna frown, they in terror Cause yo next move big. Bigger than the crib is Bigger than the a** is. Bigger than the world is Cause we working, no resume f** it let the record play f** them if they plotinate f** them if they say they rocking with you when you know they can't Feels like everybody dying in this place called life Going hard on the mic, in a nice attire Entirely different league from the flow to the hair From the flow to the air, from the door to the stair. What? I just laugh cause I'm rare. They the same around here f** around and lead them to the top, called fear [Solo Intellect:] Ah ha. Yeah In the studio going hard, apparently You-C, 3rd Letter, where you at? (Booty eating a** n***a) Ole b**h a** n***a, haha I love you though Come pick me up in the Mustang fool I heard you rapping and sh** You ain't got time to smoke a hookah with a n***a or nothing, man? What's that all about n***a think he too paid and sh** I heard that n***a still eating that booty though? Rich a** n***a! [Verse 3: You-C] Uh, alley ooping with roofies all in my f**ing system While you f**ing groupies on my dang-a-lang gets no attention Son of a biscuit, I've got syrup in my veins Drink this pop filter to block out the pictures in my brain, uh While you was making it rain, I was brainstorming I was born to shake this foundation and change it from the Norman I guess that's why they call me, the blackest Peter Parker Web-slinging on your boundaries, I changed the rules with a marker So scratch it off, you runaways can meet this renegade Don't you be afraid of me telling the truth anyway My enemies can be cooked and eaten from the beef Defecating success, I'm on a winning streak The winner's meet, we vomit sick like gonorrhea Lyrical pistol, bang-bang-bang, I hope you feel this onomatopoeia I cross genes like 501s from out of Heaven Catch me blasting off a hundred rounds like a Mac-11 Yeager! k** the f**ing reverend. Amen