Popa Chief – New Jersey Turn Pike lyrics

[Intro: Tax Free]
Yo... ya'll gonna stop fronting on my man
Burnt Biskut Production.. Burnt Biskut Production
This is Tax Free, I am the road manager
Burnt Biskut Production... yo... Burnt Biskut
You haven't heard? I'm the road manager, Tax Free
Popa Chief, Burnt Biskut Production... cop that
You ain't been there yet? See... I'm upset now
South Jersey, what? What? Tax Free...
Yo, man, take this blunt, take this blunt and hand me a forty
Man, what the fuck? Hey look... there go the niggas from the Zu
Uh-oh... I'm gonna turn the lights on, maybe even the sirens
These muthafuckas are on Jersey Turnpike

[Chorus: Popa Chief]
I don't care if you're a hot girl or hoe, hot boy or herb
Miss America, or a project bird
Rocket scientist, or you're mentally disturbed
I bet you get a little in front, mark my word

[5 Foot Hyper Sniper]
Late night, boy, call me Jay Leno, boy
Ecstasy for these dumb dimples, boy
Tinted windows, for the Benz jeep boy
So me and Popa Chief, can smoke in peace, boy
Secret compartment, where I keep the heat
Niggas been they love the sheets, Timbs on the feet
For the streets of keeps, never weak, I'm never sweet
You catch me underneath the sheets
Fucking your hoe, she sucking me slow
You ain't know, how nigga, is Captain Save a Hoe
He chase a hoe, with the four-four, with the four-four
Like he po-po, I'm a thug, though
I'm stronger, my spot, a hundred proof
Put a whole in your man, like a hoola hoop
My style got flavas, like hydro, purple haze, Arizona
Texas, chronic with the leaf, no seeds, Brick City
Nigga please

[Interlude: 5 Foot Hyper Sniper (K-Blunt)]
Nigga put that shit down, nigga
You see me getting pulled the fuck over
Oh the fuck.. god damn..
(You fucking up, son, you fucking up for real
Yo, son, go head...)

[Chorus]

[K-Blunt]
Now they think we lying, cuz we done hit 'em with the dumb shit
While the weight of the state, we contemplating
How the fuck we gon' get up out, yeah that's right, girl, and shout
Work for the system, got clout
Back out, party, crackhouse
Liquor, drugs, hoes and hugs, lots of social love
I'm do, high and, custom blue on riots
Get my life right, and by the end of the night
Off the back burner, sip it right, crook get burnt
And buttered, and dropped and picked it up
Blew it off, and gave it kiss
Wait in line on this, never get pissed
Catch the next one, if this one you missed