Street Cred Lyrics – Boldy James

Read the full Street Cred lyrics by Boldy James along with the music video, song credits, release information and other details about the song.

I’m trying to keep my promise to put all my n!ggas on
I’m tired of being modest, been humble for too long
Got ’em in competition, trying to keep up with the jones
Why n!ggas like me? I’m just trying to keep up with the phones
Flat rock to him, trammie serving in the bourne
Slap boxing, steel jamming, 30am
Amg benz, double parked in on the corner
Matchbox and blills, had to serve just to pay rent
Bird bath in different socks and drawers with the same shirt
Counted out 300 but was all in a day’s work

Came perp, n!ggas mad at blocks ’cause they ain’t turning
Run right on the fully, bump into a bullet face first
Aces wild off the deck till I pull a joker
And snatch the chain from around your neck
Book him for his choker
Blood cloud told me to smoke it over
He said you must ain’t never had your mug
Shot on a wanted poster

(??)
Street s*it been working on my nerves
It’s game time, two to seven, n!ggas know the verdict
I’m done giving n!ggas credit that they don’t deserve
All these overs and these extras, ghetto steven spielberg
Cut another edit, stunt double coming up on the exit
Behind the scenes with this movie clip
Don’t make me roll the credits

Live action, you out now rocking with the jackson
The catcher pops from downtown like I’m johnny paxson
For my day ones, I’m quick to let that chopper stutter
Ayy young s*it, that’s like my big adopted brother
Fu*k a pu*sy gon’ tell me that I done done
If that n!gga blood can’t seal me what I done slum
All of the money to the family that I done brung
Real gritter, still can post on bellevue without a gun

That’s the least a n!gga’s worries when you front the trenches
How many n!ggas from your hood you know that touched the ticket?
Ain’t gotta lie on my supply, ain’t gotta front to kick it
Ghetto olympics, from the hook, I was jumping pictures

S*it so poetic when I spit it, it’s like spoken word
Real concrete, your teacher had to grade me on the curve
Now they label me kingpin for standing on my word
We used to peace up, chip in and annie on the bird
Shedding tattooed tears, I know you overheard
Throughout the years, this street s*it been working on my nerves
It’s gang time, 227, n!ggas know the verdict
I’m done giving n!ggas credit that they don’t deserve