The Old Groove - Griselda, Novel

Stupid motherfucker ain’t find a brick in the fridge

Only got 10K, fuck that, we goin' back, Lord

(Man, fuck that, man, we goin' back, I told you the fuckin' brick was in the

fridge, yo)

10K, fuck that, we goin' back, Lord (What's up, baby? Stroller)

Pineapple Urus, cocaine purest (Ah)

Trench on, shit only came out in Europe (Ah)

My shooter on syrup (Grr)

Kicks I got on, you never heard of (Uh-uh)

My Puerto Rican bitch from La Perla

Rub the coke on my gums, that shit was magnifique (Ah)

Hugged the plug, told him same time next week

Jewelry fresh, the bitches all on my neck (Ah)

In the Guggenheim, I had the fold-up TEC (Grr)

Fendi headband, I didn’t break a sweat (Uh-uh)

Same nigga had Vicky eatin' out LaVette (Woo)

There’s Genovese all over (Ah)

Wallabees cobra, graveyard shift Motorolas (Brr)

Brick after brick after brick, Lord, game over (Ah)

Ike just came home for a second time (Second time)

Could’ve fucked your bitch, I told her never mind (Told her never mind)

My team vicious, walk, talk, eat different (Ah)

Got a whole brick, I had to remix it (Remix)

Shit look like Jermaine Dupri whipped it (Whip)

Talk Caesar, seasick, them bullets keep hittin' (Grr)

Toss the F&N like a flea-flicker (Boom, boom, boom, boom)

Preach, nigga, they gettin' money while we richer

Key flippers, Amiri jeans, Louis V slippers

Out of town OG shippers to the weed pitchers

You don’t ever squeeze your blicker and that’s where we differ (We ain’t the

same, niggas)

I don’t hesitate to bust my chrome

Bar for bar, can’t no nigga touch my zone

Niggas know what the fuck I’m on

Playin' spades in the county and niggas know not to touch my phone,

yeah (Don't touch my phone)

My plug a giant in New York, he got them things in (Ah)

Send me thirteen to Cleveland, like the G-men (Hahaha)

Griselda the championship team, we got the rings in (Yeah)

Mad as fuck, my shooter got deported back to Kingston (It's fucked up)

Your pockets not deep enough, do not beef with us

How can we be touched?

You niggas don’t got reach enough

You not street enough, I will come through your block and I street sweep it up

(Brr)

Griselda, you niggas cannot eat with us, yeah

That’s something that I cannot preach enough (Yeah)

40 on me, homie, I keep it tucked (Hah)

I’ma keep it a buck (Yeah)

If you a fuck nigga, do not speak to us

We got Flee with us

Thirty shot Glocks’ll heat shit up (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom,

boom)

Machine

Mind your business, nigga, tuck your paper (Tuck that)

When it’s on, my shooter teflon a couple layers

Every day I put on gold like a fuckin' Laker (Fuckin' Laker)

Out west pushin' them foreign shits up LaBrea (Skrrt)

You know the outcome when your pedigree is Martin, Malcolm

Don’t 'preciate you, and when you dead, they study all your albums

I was young and sonnin' them niggas that you call a thousand (Them niggas?)

I was hustlin', frontin' them old niggas all them ounces (Where my money at?)

Quarter brick under my mattress and my father found it (True story)

Wanted me out, and all I did is make him call it down here (Come get this)

I just put my dick in her mouth, you bought that ho Louboutins (Fuck you doin'?)

I caught a bomb in the A, but don’t play for the Falcons (Nah)

Ain’t no linkin' back with niggas I had a fallin' out with (Fuck 'em)

They only start that shit with you so they can talk about it (Talk about it)

It’s cool, and we can take it far as y’all allow it (What's poppin'?)

I spin through, your Gucci hoodie gon' have chalk around it (Brr)

Yeah, nah, I can’t forget them traps that I had hostage (Had hostage)

Walkin' 'round with your re-up in my back pocket (Hahahaha)

I use your baby mama for a stash option

I couldn’t trust that bitch, so she was my last option

Uh, every time we drop, we gave hell to niggas (Gave hell to niggas)

So they top five got all three Griselda members

Dope spot, a bunch of empty shells was in it

How I make that brick jump?

I had to put my elbow in it

Let’s go

I ain’t playin' no games (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)

I said this is, my nigga, this is my life, oh, shit (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)

I said listen, listen (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)

Never had a jump shot, but had a cold pen

Papa was an old pimp that used to smoke Slims, uh

I ain’t the one for the tusslin'

Quick to tell a bitch nigga, «Do something, then»

Brown Timbs with the Polo fleece, uh

Youngins pushin' packs, control those streets

And po-po'll flash the lights tryna find these niggas

Them cocaine '80s turned me into a grimy nigga, ooh

It’s all about the yams

Mama always told me, «Pay your Uncle Sam»

Single mother, always had us on the lam

Livin' in them shelters, spaghetti and hot Spam, goddamn

Pots down, catch the bus to Campton

On my way to Sunday service with my niggas lampin'

Mrs. Harris used to make a mean catfish

We was teens, used to watch the fiends backflip

Talkin' to themselves, sellin' they love

That crack rock is a hell of a drug

In the stash spot, never sell out your plug

Anyone can get shot and killed, so I had to get out for real

'Cause I’m in another zone

You know the ghetto’s home

You know the ghetto’s home

You know the ghetto’s home

I’m in another zone

You know the ghetto’s home

You know the ghetto’s home

You know the ghetto’s home

'Cause I’m in another zone

You know the ghetto’s home

You know the ghetto’s home

You know the ghetto’s home

I’m in another zone

You know the ghetto’s home

You know the ghetto’s home

You know the ghetto’s home