for crees. oya pass me my cellular make i call my gees

wetin the play o,

what be the word for streets?

me i dey boxing ring with the odds

and my ops, you see

no this ain’t nothing like creed oh

man, i just bob & weave oh

no, this ain’t nothing like creed oh

man, i just sweet maryjane

one more toke, i’m feening again

head burn, it’s heating again wait,

body temp, increasing again

make i lose composure, make i pull shirt o but olokpa dey streets dey parade

say the stop and search is getting ruthless o

tell me why i no go squeeze my face

young nigga, i’m rocking crees o

sipping on brandy, watching the stock increase

me i told dem already my price going up, you see youngin been talking too loose, i let him

probably gotten high off the food he selling

if you make me come for you,

my broski you no go stop to bleed

like it’s that time of the month

me i dey carry my cross

if i find a woman and she take the pressure off me i’m tying the knot

i swear there’s a bigger bread to be made out here why you dying for crumbs?

i do the sign of the cross

as pastor kola say the final prayer

call the pallbearers say dem bury my homie, rukki put him body for ground

holy ghost, holy ghost this pain,

if you no take am away e go go round

all the smoke for my lungs

all the shayo for my liver still i’m holding it down

but who go hold me down?

oya pass me my cellular make i call my gees

wetin the play o,

what be the word for streets?

me i dey boxing ring with the odds

and my ops, you see

no this ain’t nothing like creed oh

man, i just bob & weave oh

no, this ain’t nothing like creed oh