Meyhem Lauren & DJ Muggs – Street Religion Lyrics

[Verse 1: Meyhem Lauren] Street religion’s what I practice
Cuban Linx chain my hat backwards
Accelerate weight, livin’ the fastest
Covered in graphics, my shirts look like art pieces
My life story’s like a sharp thesis
My heart preaches what my mind knows, sense over emotion
Never see pyramids built without devotion
I seen fiends suckin’ glass like a pleco
The money that we use in the strip clubs is play dough
Friends become foes, foes become alliances
Gold bars get stashed inside appliances
Stayin’ free B and in G, I’m like a scientist
Red and green belt on my waist, that’s where the iron is
Queens founded, international minded
Dollar signs under my eyelid on my hybrid
Design which period, strength and personality
This Queens nigga’s about to do it for the galaxy
The calculator’s good, my scale is calibrated
I’m still aloof, I got the workin’ and the salivated
Know a couple Rambos to high belt Lambos
I ain’t really bout that I’m good with my hand foes
Livin’ lowkey, fuck doing OT
I’ll be throwin’ OT til I’m a OG, uh
Wood grains in my gold teeth
Hello motherfuckers calling me the chief
[Verse 2: Roc Marciano] Check it
Bloody murder, a young version of Ike Turner
Watch your bird I might burn her with the curler
Severely hurt her, but the word I can nurture
Long furs his and hers in the house of worship
At the funeral I heard it got turned up
Gangbangers from the rival turf shot the church up
Live by the gun, die by it
Uh, what good is science to a man if he can’t apply it?
By many I was praised but I’m unfit
Stared death in the eyes never once flinch
Cock the hammer on the gun left a thumbprint
Come with it, young blood undercover knit
Put the hit on him, if he live pull a mulligan
Chrome .357 with the rubber grip
Sippin’ Baileys on the rocks like Puffy
Pie lucky, pop you cannot touch me
Hunt for treasure, strugglin’ to touch cheddar
Front nigga probably be a bum forever
Was once tight but in due time sever
Birds of a feather flock together

Stay fly til the day I die, that’s the slogan
Fly based opponent, 5-50 with the corners
Ice chokers, cut the pie ghetto stockbrokers
In ’89 had a line for the smokers
Still rock gold like a king, my nuts is hangin’ low
Nickel plated .44 ain’t for show
Nigga leave ya thoughts on the sidewalk
For that fly talk twist one and slide off

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