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Mafia Music III Lyrics

from Mastermind

"Mafia Music III" is track #7 on the album Mastermind. It was written by Roberts Ii, William / Brooks, David Constantine / Kalonji, Sizzla.
"Mafia Music III" is track #7 on the album Mastermind. It was written by Roberts Ii, William / Brooks, David Constantine / Kalonji, Sizzla.

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My corner so polluted, young niggas looting
I studied Kenneth Williams, I'm one hell of a student
Remarkable hustle, my niggas coming home
I kept the candle lit, my nigga never rowed
Niggas caught him slipping, gave him a shit bag
Five shots to the stomach, 2Pac gift pack
It's death row, conspiracy theories
Concealed indictments handed to the grand jury
Get some money now, you hated by your own kind
The home invasion done by niggas in your bloodline
GABOS, game ain't based on sympathy
So he put a hit on his cousin at 18
A sweet potato pie, oh me, oh my
Showing no remorse watching the others cry
Heroin sales, detectives'll sell
A lot of yellow tape, where that Obama care?
This the mob, bitch, silk underwear
Yeezy concerts, Kim Instagrams
Niggas hating, though they studied my moves
I'm like Farrakhan, in view of hundreds of Jews
Two attempts on my life, they threatened venues
Can't you see what I am? The hustle continue
I bought more jewels, I ordered the Wraith
I got a new style of shoes, match the watch in the face
Bill Belichick, coaching and calling the shots
Throw a yellow flag, pussy nigga body drops
Then we celebrate, black bottles pop
Time to elevate, we re-open shop
Wale a genius, Meek Mill a superstar
My new crib in Phoenix, ten car garage
Petite felite, platinum Audemars
Ain't no tags needed, nigga, I own them cars
I know them bitches, we met them broads
Never loved one, fucked them all
I'm a fucking dog, Ricky fucking Ross
Nigga Birkin bags just for my runner-ups
But my main bitch she get the main dish
Not the old range, that was a lame bitch
Brazilian weave, she say I came quick
I let her see a hundred ki's, a different St. Nick
Moving bricks like it's Black Friday
She gotta fuck me or call me a fat crybaby
Looking over my shoulder, I can't trust a soul
Bought a spot in Anguilla just for me and my ho
Glock .40, even when I shower
Chrome .22 in my swimming towel
Mob ties and I pray the music set me free
May the powers that be, nigga let me be

We around when the sun goes down
And the real, real killers they mourn for ya
It's gonna be a bloodshed
One month, one day it's gonna be a bloodshed
Bop, gunshot in the head
Payback is a motherfucker
Yes, I feel it when I squeeze the trigger
I feel the air when my enemies die
I feel the strength of ten killas
What is to be, will be
Only God on earth can kill me
'Cause these fucking streets filthy
And I ain't fucking guilty

Gangsta no take no chance, from no guy
Know why? Violate a gangsta and bullets fly
Boy die
Guns go off ah suh me say
Murderings in anyway
Gangsta no take no chance, from no guy
Know why? Violate a gangsta and bullets fly
Boy die
Guns go off ah suh we say
Murderings in anyway

You better not be around, when the sun goes down
And the real real killas, them hunt for you
Ay, it's gonna be a bloodshed
One bust, one dead, it's gonna be a bloodshed
Gun shot in a head

Sizzla Kalonji have de girls dem screaming
Entire country every sweet gyal
Ya already know the meaning but its streaming
Go and clean, ya cant diss me ya must be dreaming

Jamaicans make dem know we can't defeat dem (Mo' fire)

Songwriters
Roberts II, William / Brooks, David Constantine / Kalonji, Sizzla

Published by
Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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