Mama Maxine Lyrics – Nicholas Craven & Boldy James

Mama Maxine Lyrics

[Intro: Boldy James]
ConCreatures, yeah
’64 like Nintendo
Check, ayy

[Verse 1: Boldy James]
Hundred strip the long way, this shit can’t fit in no money clip
Turn the split to a four-way, finna dump the whole one twenty-six
Takin’ penitentiary chances, damn near on the brink of sniffin’ blow
Brick of Bill Laimbeer, got more three one links than a figaro
Chunkin’ deuces on Stahelin, 227
Don’t confuse it with no Southern playalistic Cadillac funky music
This that Hell Block, Curtis Curb, hully gully rooted
Top side, before you cop this shit come have your junkie toot it
Hundred units every other month, my niggas runnin’ through ’em
Thumbin’ through a check ain’t nothin’ new, kilo my double Cubans
I was only three when I first found out that my unc’ was using
Sold dope all my life, if I don’t know shit, I know what I’m doin’
When it come to turnin’ one to two this shit got buddy droolin’
Girly wishin’ we can jump the broom but ain’t no honey moonin’
I be zoomin’, known to keep that A1 like a honor student
Nigga play with us gon’ end up laid up in a trauma unit

[Chorus: 218bojay]
Growin’ up the shit a nigga seen, it wasn’t for no child
Can’t count on my hands who I can trust, but I can count on God
Pops ain’t have no job but work was scheduled like nine to five
Servin’ out the Super 8, red-roofin’ Econo Lodge
Wakin’ up for school and you see fiends all in the living room
Bangin’ needles, can’t say I grew up with no silver spoon
Spot slapboxin’, J’s standin’ in a single file
Grandma was my angel but my momma raised a demon child

[Verse 2: Boldy James]
Killed a half a ticket on the whip, ‘least worth a half a slab
Split a half of brick and bled the strip, ain’t need no maxi pad
Mad Maxin’, beam on the glowstick blue as the Last Dragon
Judge maxin’ niggas out, might as well help him pack his bags
Ashy knuckles packin’ up them tenders, strapped up in the Bimmer
10K in a bag of Ruffles, sensei when it come to ether
Just take all my Ethikas, ConCreature hard body, no carbon copy replicas
Price range always cheaper than most of my competitors
Brodie asked, “What you want from the store?” Told him, “The register”
Grandma pray for me, don’t bless me out, shame on the messenger
Can’t prey on the weak, no, we the type to prey on the predator
They shot my little brother eight houses down from Jessica
Live and living color, Wayne County, don’t need no editors
Know my life a screenplay
Been known for fish scalin’, somethin’ like a stingray
Just hope a nigga make it out this shit with a clean slate
What else?

[Chorus: 218bojay]
Growin’ up the shit a nigga seen, it wasn’t for no child
Can’t count on my hands who I can trust, but I can count on God
Pops ain’t have no job but work was scheduled like nine to five
Servin’ out the Super 8, red-roofin’ Econo Lodge
Wakin’ up for school and you see fiends all in the living room
Bangin’ needles, can’t say I grew up with no silver spoon
Spot slapboxin’, J’s standin’ in a single file
Grandma was my angel but my momma raised a demon child
The Jackson

[Outro: 218bojay]
Grandma was my angel but my momma raised a demon child