Scrape the Bowl (feat. Benny the Butcher)

Benny the Butcher, let's get it

From Detroit to Buffalo, we love to smuggle blow

Soon as the pack landed, I let a couple go

Michigan, back to New York, keep runnin' up the pike

We turnin' up at night, I just earned another stripe

90 east and 94, ducking state patrol

I had to move safe and low, especially 'cause my face was known

Free all my hitters in the clink just tryin' to make parole

I'ma still scrape the bowl till the day you make it home

We need a place to pitch, ain't a mound, get a brick, break it down

Hit a lick, take you down, take a city, rape a town

Eighty big ones in the ceiling, tell that bitch, don't make a sound

'80's babies still in prison, wish that I could break him out

Stood up and he made us proud, told him, when I make it out

We ain't gon' have to risk our life no more, I found a safer route

I just shot a kite to bro, he put me on the paper route

Now we one the road, thirty-six O's wrapped in paper towels

My witness ain't show up to court, the judge, he had to weigh the trail

They say I got a morbid sense of humor, but that made me smile

Shout to my shooter, when he drill you, that's a flagrant foul

Just put in for his appeal, he told me it might take awhile

Told him, ain't shit but sometime, just make sure you make it count

And when you get out that bitch, don't let these **** take you out

Or trick you out the street again, these bitches out here chasing clout

Make sure you double count it, give a fuck how long it take to count

I channel my thoughts, dope in my scale, hand on my fork

We hustlers, prices up when it land in New York

Wait, name a clique with a rep substantial as ours

And the work so good, all the fiends compare you to god

Dope shooters walk my block like it's the land of the lost

I gave back the ghetto, they never hand you awards

Cool, this for the homies that's dead, ain't in the yard

All the road trips to cop work what got stamina strong

I got my bitch puttin' animal on

I got my first brick and copped cameras for the crib and the alarm

Two Os in the V like that Canada squad

Magic in the pot like I whip grams with a wand, yeah

This for the money, the hundreds left in the basement

The stash box we only touch on special occasions

Y'all not up 'cause y'all do it just to get famous

The plug hit me back, and I been destined for greatness

From Detroit to Buffalo, we love to smuggle blow

Soon as the pack landed, I let a couple go

Michigan, back to New York, keep runnin' up the pike

We turnin' up at night, I just earned another stripe

90 east and 94, duckin' the state patrol

I had to move safe and low, especially 'cause my face was known

Free all my hitters in the clink just tryin' to make parole

I'ma still scrape the bowl till the day you make it home