Artist: Troy Ave f/ Pusha T Album: White Christmas (Mixtape) Song: Concrete Jungle Typed by: AZ Lyrics [Intro: Troy Ave] I just wanna feel the beat I just wanna feel the beat Just gotta let it breathe in between there In this space, don't hear nobody but me [Chorus: Troy Ave] Truth is, they ain't tellin' truth about nothin' Ribs don't lie on a man when they touchin' I ain't gon' lie, I took hand in destruction Shots gon' fly at the end of my discussion I'm tired of being hungry, my bread's startin' to crumble I just wanna ball, all these niggas do is fumble The weak gon' die and the real gon' rumble When you livin' in this concrete jungle, word up [Verse 1: Pusha T] I was born in the era of heroin and free base Crack change, the hustle I seen it reshape See my type of superhero didn't need capes I seen the keys of life carried in a briefcase This shit briefed us, told us where the back road would lead us Money had us second guessin' Jesus As we pray to false gods at the Caesars With a fake smile like these black leaders Kwami killed Pat, top peeled back A razor in the sun, a nigga still black Although it's polish on it, my shit is still trap They try to camouflage it, my phone is still tapped As it should be - Connect call and I come runnin' We ran through the river, how we won from it (yuck) All this damage I done done from it The best to ever do it, I'm just one from it [Chorus] [Verse 2: Troy Ave] Troy Ave, I have surfaced, nigga I was bored with the wave of these circus niggas Clown down crown, heat with purpose, nigga He who dope boy swag ain't on purpose, nigga County of the kings when she birthed this nigga Baby I'm ready, let's revert this nigga Bought a big body Benz off of verses, nigga I got red bottoms too, mine's from murders, nigga Hot stepper, pot setter, Pyrexer I measure, see us test this, my pleasure Align tresaure, rubber band every rack Double band every bar 'til it's six layin' flat Give a dap and I'm gone, gat in my palm Runnin' base, you ain't safe 'til your ass get it home Major league dealin' with this 'cane I pitch Fuckin' three-strike laws, come and get this hit [Chorus] [Verse 3: Troy Ave] Might as well, real niggas in the building Block sales, crack cocaine dealings Word up, back down little bitch 36 on the waist, but holdin' a four-fifth I let it go, that's truer than your religion Hella blow, we movin' it with precision A broke nigga hate I'm cool with that decision Hit 'em with a mack, they wish it was a collision You con trucks, you count bucks Drove out to CT, price went up Fiends got higher, supplied that fire Countin' the proceeds and my eyes got wider See, see? This what I'm talkin' 'bout Get money, fuck what these fucked niggas talkin' 'bout Truth is they ain't tellin' truth about nothin' BSB niggas never frontin', for real [Outro] Fuck! Gotta put some more beat on that, man I was gon' keep goin' We here givin' niggas the gospel, that holy feel Real deal Fuck! Light 'em up