Walkie Talkies lyrics

by

Juvenile


[Produced by Thelonious Martin]

[Verse 1: Curren$y]
Uh, colder than the airport
Music hustling, ducking the rap task force
Man, I'm just tryna cop my man's a Porsche
Writing these drugs until my hand get sore
Maneuvering, Cuban links, 24 karats
Who did you think was coming to dinner, it wasn't apparent?
Your n*gga Spitta, smellin' like a pound of that killa
Open the window, these suckers lungs too tender
Homes I been in it, for more than a minute
Fathering styles, lot of the n*ggas is just my littles
I'mma stop, with one button stuntin' dissolve the top
Open air, in something rare

[Verse 2: Young Roddy]
Them n*ggas got blood stains all on the dollar bill
But they don't care, they rinse it off 'til ain't nothin' there
Had to keep my kicks clean, may not get another pair
sh*t hard, where the f*ck I'm coming from they play it raw
My God, I'm tired; I've been running from the law
Even runnin' up the cars, they want me dead behind bars, no sir
Momma got another gig, moved on her own turf
Only fist fights around that time, nobody got murked
Until they started playin' with bangers
Nobody got caught until they started pointing fingers
Sinking, ain't that a b*tch
I stay fatigued down on some battle sh*t
I never tell, I ain't on no Donnie Brasco sh*t
I'm on Sosa, this life made me a soldier
I'm no Tony, I never turn on my homie, boy
This ain't no country for the wack and the phony boy
This sh*t could get wicked in this New Jet City n*gga

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