Prompt / Lyrics
[Verse 1] Sun cookin’ the block Mailbag cuttin’ my side Christina pushin’ that cart Same route, same tired sky Here come Larry on the corner Talk big like he run this strip Crumbled paper in his fist Yeah, he toss it, let it slip Hit her arm, hits the ground She stop short in the heat Turn slow, eyes like fire Middle of the broken street “You think I’m some trash?” Voice cut sharper than a blade “You a grown-ass clown Throwin’ junk on my pay?” [Chorus] Christina look him dead in the face “You a piece of shit, Larry, say it to my name” You don’t own this block, you just talk and spit Throwin’ paper like a coward, straight piece of shit Christina stand tall, bag strapped tight “You don’t disrespect me on my route, all right?” Crowd look on, they remember this Christina call him out, “you a piece of shit” [Verse 2] He mumble, try to laugh Front tough for his little crew But his voice kinda crack He ain’t know what she’d do She step up in his space Postal stripes, sweat on her brow Point straight at his chest “You the sorry one now” “You don’t pay my rent You don’t walk my miles You don’t feel this sun You don’t earn these smiles You just throw from the curb Like you king of this zip” She brush off her sleeve “Whole block know you a trip” [Chorus] Christina look him dead in the face “You a piece of shit, Larry, say it to my name” You don’t own this block, you just talk and spit Throwin’ paper like a coward, straight piece of shit Christina stand tall, bag strapped tight “You don’t disrespect me on my route, all right?” Crowd look on, they remember this Christina call him out, “you a piece of shit”
Tags
rap, G‑funk West Coast bounce with swung drums, rubbery bass, and eerie synth leads; male vocals spitting cold, story-driven verses, female vocal ad-libs; hook widens with stacked gang vocals and sharp clap accents riding a laid-back but menacing groove, hip hop
Duration
1:57
Instrumental
No
Created
3/5/2026