Blown

Yeah
Yeah
Yeah
Uh
I be blown in my city, really gone off the sticky
I get blown in my city by the hoes you think is pretty
You ain’t known in your city
Pimp you slipping, you better get with it
Betchu Spitta pop up in a Lamborgini by Christmas
I pop that shit and when I speak, I speak it into existence
Millions upon millions I’m looking good with it
Bitches know 'bout Spitta, an addict for tenni’s
All my hoes who shop for me know I don’t wear white fitteds
Half-baked, Mr. Nice Guy with it
Flow so serious, its often bitten
Blame I don’t place on them but shame on them
And my name’s ringing bells
The (?) are changing the air, these niggas are not prepared
But the streets are very aware
Spitta is the original
Niggas got identity crisis they trying to be similar
The way he kick shit you would think Bruce Lee was killing him
Catch my breath and then I go back in
I put on for my city, grind strong for my city
Get that natural exposure, bring it home to my city
(?) great weed we buy
Spirit of the Wright brothers, nigga we that fly
Yeah
Come on nigga
Put on for your mother fucking city if you got to gangsta
Get it while the getting is good nigga
Fuck the bullshit nigga
I been putting on for my city since fucking '91 nigga
And I’m still there, ya heard me
Magnolia ain’t (?) what
We still putting on for the city nigga
Everywhere I go nigga Magnolia follow me
Niggas in my heart, niggas in my bones
Ya heard me
And we putting on for my city
And every other niggas city that I go to nigga
Put on for your city nigga