The Warehouse

Bring some warmth to the music

(La música de Harry Fraud)

Everybody wanna be fast, see the cash
Fuck around with the stash, get a heat rash
Everything in Jet Life, way we smash, double paying class
Call phone in the S-class
Fundamental ballin' like a chest pass
Lay-up drill, I'm a player for real
A display of my skills'll give your bitches the chills
Button on wheels, letters in the grill
Let her see the letters, she wonderin' how it feel
Get your ass in the seat, you mashin' with me
Parked up, sparked up, where them niggas can't be
There can never be no access for the weak
Gang sour, overpower if you sweet
My team in the finals and we goin' for the sweep
Tape CD's, vinyls, MP3's, loaded USB's, crack vials in the streets

(I don't know)
(But whoever it was, needs us to gain access to the warehouse)

(We gon' move these from there and put them over here)
(We'll build a building and just hide that over there)
(I'm telling you too much, anyway)

Broken glass everywhere
If it ain't about no money, dawg, I just don't care
Smokin' on the sticky in the Chevy Bel Air
Wind blowin' and I'm just admiring her hair
She a cold one, but I'm not sure if she real
We'll know when she start bringin' some money up in here
Tear it in, the ice thin
She expect a free ride 'cause her ass fat and her waist slim
Baby girl, I know a whole bunch of them
And if they wasn't born with it, then the surgeon put it in
Fuck it, though
My Cuban link, yellow gold
Diamond flooded kilo
They fucked up when they gave us enough time to reload
Now it's a whole bunch of overturned vehicles
Sirens whinin' like cranky three year-old's
I'm laid up watchin' Dirty Dancin' in the winter home

(I'm a drug addict)