Banned from Radio lyrics

They can't f*ck with us n*gga
Drewski!
Ridin on these n*ggas, they already know what it is and what we about
What we about n*gga?!
Cipha Sounds what's up n*gga, yeah

[Verse 1: Maino]
Regardless the rain or snow, sleet or hail
I kick street tales
Meet the devil when I see hell
And by a state[?]
Pullin your fate in the palm of my hands
Blow you away if you ain't part of the fam
The realest n*gga in the game
Tattoos cover my pain
Eyes closed still holdin my aim
Sweatsuit, gold rolly and chain
Dope dealer sh*t
Black fist, on him[?] Hussein
That's killer sh*t
Street n*gga, speak for the crooks
Give me feminine looks
c*cksucka I'm the king of the brook[?]
Dress like I'm in a video--Pop!--
f*ck the whole radio--Pop!--
f*ck these other n*ggas that they ride for the city though
[Verse 2: Bodega Bamz]
Henny, white, no ice
Eat only five-star caviar
No jobs given
In the ride an Apple Macintosh
Tay[?] connection
Second-guessing get your melon caved in
Then we celebratin
Hit your shorty while he level playin[?]
Do it for the streets n*gga
Do it for the tweets
I'm a corner-store n*gga
I just rap off[?] to beef
Raise the hurt, leave em double dead
I'm a bubble head
I never listen to nothin my mother said
Poppy like Camacho
Boxin, duckin vanachos[?]
Watch[?] me call me guapo
Pockets fatter than sauco[?]
The weed: color purple
Beat the pus*y like Harpo
Deadly with the manos
I'll give you all a pistaco[?]

[Verse 3: Chinx]
Fo-wheel drive with the piece on me
Coke boys got in lots with the streets homie
They frontin live with a weak omen
Whole chicken broke down, move that less than a week homie
Courtside seats bought my own whistle
Three-quarter mink, bad to the bone gristle
When your team up, n*ggas wanna ball with you
No hammer but I bet you got them hoes with you
Bald-head no lockout, go hard no cop out
Just watch your back then jump out
Boys gon hop out
High-school dropout, figured how to get it on the stove
Pull up to my old school with the drop out
[Verse 4: Troy Ave]
Dope boy swag to the max
Troy Ave mof*cka and I'm dealin with facts
Not made[?] for TV, but I'm on TV
J-Ro[?] the deep[?], mof*cka you see me
Self-made, self-paid, that's boss
Twitter DM's from the boy Rick Ross
No contract but I deal
Cocaine, still sh*t real, I am ill
Count on my Bendo's[?]
Got it off lend though
New York City
To[?] the big homies my hand do[?]
Adidas deal, I have never been checked
Show me my respect or get shown Wally[?] wet[?] motherf*ckers

[Verse 5 Mack Wilds]
Yeah, it's Mack
There ain't a n*gga that you know more thorough than this
It's a shame, cuz a singer killin' her more than ya b*tch
Bust off and let the hot barrel sit on her lips, heh
And that's just me up on some ignorant sh*t
I got a couple motherf*ckers gettin rich as a b*tch
As I put my city back with the music and sh*t
Guess I'm the
Most imitated
Grammy-nominated
Hotel accommodated
Cheerleader prom dated
I put my city on my back, I'm never overrated
The young Samo, loading up all his ammo
Vandalize every time Cipha put me on f*ckin wax
Catchin bodies, TV now on the f*ckin track
[Verse 6: City Boy Dee]
Ayo, a few ways out of the hood
I think about it while I'm ravelin 'woods
The haze round, but I'd rather the kush
I get it soft, I was grabbin the cook
Fresh off the block to this rap
That's a real good look
And I just had a brand new kid
I need money for some diapers and a brand new crib
Being broke, this sh*t hurt like a brand new bid
That's why I cut the dope twice and I'm still in the biz, n*gga, uh
Eything; real sh*t
f*ckin with the boy for
Real flint[?], keep my circle tight
Cuz they'll swell[?] quick
n*ggas stylin
Guns on us be wilin
Resorts in the island
The belts is Italian