SPM - Twenty-Eight lyrics

[Verse 1: SPM] You lookin' up to Michaels, I'm looking up to psychos Men who died young make up most of my idols Head harder than a hammer, don't give a damn-a Mind goes blank, then it clicks like a camera Blame it on the fry And I ain't finna fake it Last night I got wet and ran around my hood naked Thinking boys tryna k** me Real n***as feel me Back to backs sticks had me fried out for real G SP, browner than a dirty penny Got your whole click screamin', "Who murdered Kenny?" Purple bong hitter the stuff you on, sh** but pull your heat And I bet you, I'll respond quicker The lost liquor, like Gilli and his boy Skipper Pop the top, get to pourin' out some malt liquor For my homies that I miss like a 3-Pointer And won't rest till I get your enemies for you [Chorus] I don't want to die today, but I've got twenty-eight in my microwave Everybody in the hood really like my yay' Clear and uncut, got no time to play (Listen yo) x2 [Verse 2: SPM Four pebbles in the Matchbox, how many crack rocks will it take just to buy mom a house and socks? No more canned pork and beans, never had normal dreams All I ever wanted was to move up to quarter keys Cause on the corner, G's getting k**ed for their cheese 3:30, selling dope in the morning breeze We was born to be lost and disorderly Boys getting out the game means there's just more for me Underneath stormy skies, packing .45s Ever heard a man's last words right before he dies? It'll f** with your head, play tricks on your mind Hillwood is my hood, homie, I ain't hard to find I be there all the time, with the 40 bottle, trying hard to hit little Joe, now it's gobble gobble time Broke the house with my friends, I be hitting many licks They be like, "Los, give it back, you already rich!" [Chorus] Have a heart for your pipe, and salt for your sinus Where jackers get wrapped in blankets like Linus Into something, I don't ask questions I just be dumping Put a hole in your dome like a Halloween pumpkin One static, I will haunt you like a ghost in the attic Cuss you out like my grandpa used to do, "God damn it, [Spanish]" In my room, banged and screwed, twenty-five on my dresser Feel blessed, baby sitting with a black four-fifth And trying to roll a little something that'll give me a lift Or hit a bong for stress because it's heavy on me And this life ain't easy, but who said it would be? I accomplish at will, but still I feel that I'm cursed I told them, "We can have peace or let the bullets disperse" In the game where the referees don't show up It ain't no rules in my hood, the best man blew up [Chorus]