S.N.O.R.T.
Boldy James & The Alchemist Lyrics
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Bojack
G. I. Back to that one-way
Where we at with it?
Ugh
227
Block wakes
Let's get it
I'm making short-term goals, make the work turn pro (yeah)
Started with some diamonds in the rough, just a lump of coal
Snipe a nigga soul, lil' Joseph, he'll hug the pole
Wipe a nigga nose for his Rol' and them Buffalos
Swiping customs, selling blows, running through them 'bows
How you loving those? Never told on none of my bros
I be on the road, ducking patrol, coming through the toll (yeah)
Tryna keep it low, but Lord knows, I need to move this load
Shoot through the O, on 75, set the cruise control
It's moving too slow? Give it to Taj, he gon' move it whole (drugstore)
It ain't what you know, it's who you know, plug toot his nose
Every time it touch, it put me right back in the Super Bowl (back in the game)
No, this ain't Kweli, that was Hi-Tech in that juice I poured
On my mama stove with a Pyrex full of sushi roll
I hit it with them ice chips and ramen noodle bowls (ugh)
It harden up and turn into a block, looked like the soup was cold
The Los Angeles Firing Squad now must come
Yeah, us original
Ayo, VVS super-froze, coupe ain't got no roof or doors (nah nah)
My uncle and my partner test my dope, he got a stupid nose
And lately, I been curving groupie hoes, but I get stupid-chose
'Bout to drop a thousand in my 'Rex, I whip the Super Bowl
Them foreign cars, I'm bored with 'em
'Bout to toss that in them
Fuck a whip, I need a space coupe
We in Doc drop, in that Delorean
Michael J. Fox, jumping out the pot, Michael J. Hops
Fuck rap, I can shave rocks, these slave-ass rappers can't drop
Rolex say I'm on my eighth watch, wait, stop (yeah)
Seven-figure nigga still at the store
While my groupies eat Domino's
And my Houston hoes getting Pappadeaux's
My Dominicano 'bout to drop a load
I don't trust a soul, so a nigga drove
Hit the County, I was in the hole
With some Black Stones and some Silent Fours
I'm checked in, vest in, big bounty, rapper don dada
I remember when I seen a rapper do a spot for 1-800-Crimestoppers
I remember being on the run
Smoking Swisher Sweets up in the Ramada (yeah)
Crime lord or Vice Lord, I'm the Underground King, Godfather
Nigga, what
In "S.N.O.R.T.," Boldy James and Freddie Gibbs paint a vivid picture of the life of a drug dealer. The lyrics describe the daily grind of selling drugs and the danger that comes with it. The first verse starts with a reference to chemists and Bojack, indicating that the drugs being sold are not just any street-level drugs but instead high-quality products. The reference to a one-way street suggests that the life of a drug dealer has limited options and that there is no turning back from this path.
Boldy James talks about short-term goals and turning pro, alluding to the idea that the drug game has a short shelf life and that dealers must make the most of their time. He talks about sniping a nigga's soul or killing someone, using Joseph as a metaphor who hugs their gun (pole). He then goes on to describe how he wipes a guy's nose to steal his watch and shoes. Boldy James talks about the importance of knowing the right people, a common theme in the drug game.
Freddie Gibbs takes over in the second verse, talking about VVS diamonds and testing his drug quality. He mentions that he is curving groupie hoes but is still spending money on his car and lifestyle. He boasts his wealth as a seven-figure guy who is still at the store, while his groupies eat Domino's pizza. He tries to stay low-key and not trust anyone, even going so far as to say he drove himself to the county jail. He references his gang affiliations and his place in the drug game hierarchy, ending the song with a powerful statement: "Nigga, what."
Line by Line Meaning
I'm making short-term goals, make the work turn pro (yeah)
I set small goals to make my drug dealing more professional
Started with some diamonds in the rough, just a lump of coal
I began with low-quality drugs and transformed them into valuable product
Snipe a nigga soul, lil' Joseph, he'll hug the pole
I kill people, and Joseph will hide the evidence
Wipe a nigga nose for his Rol' and them Buffalos
I steal drugs and money from my rivals
Swiping customs, selling blows, running through them 'bows
I smuggle drugs across borders and sell them quickly
How you loving those? Never told on none of my bros
I wonder if you're impressed with my criminal activity, and I never snitch on my friends
I be on the road, ducking patrol, coming through the toll (yeah)
I travel while avoiding the authorities and toll booths
Tryna keep it low, but Lord knows, I need to move this load
I attempt to stay hidden, but I must transport my drugs
Shoot through the O, on 75, set the cruise control
I drive fast through the highway and use cruise control
It's moving too slow? Give it to Taj, he gon' move it whole (drugstore)
If the drug selling is inefficient, Taj will sell the drugs in one piece
It ain't what you know, it's who you know, plug toot his nose
Success in the drug business depends on your connections, and the supplier snorts his own products
Every time it touch, it put me right back in the Super Bowl (back in the game)
Each sale brings me closer to being a successful drug dealer again
No, this ain't Kweli, that was Hi-Tech in that juice I poured
The drink I mixed does not contain Kweli but Hi-Tech
On my mama stove with a Pyrex full of sushi roll
I'm cooking drugs at my mom's kitchen using a glass container
I hit it with them ice chips and ramen noodle bowls (ugh)
I cooled the hot drugs with ice chips and used ramen noodle bowls to mix them
It harden up and turn into a block, looked like the soup was cold
The drug mixture solidified and became a block that resembles cold soup
Ayo, VVS super-froze, coupe ain't got no roof or doors (nah nah)
My expensive diamonds are very shiny, and my sports car has no roof or doors
My uncle and my partner test my dope, he got a stupid nose
My relative and friend check the quality of my drugs, and they have a great sense of smell
And lately, I been curving groupie hoes, but I get stupid-chose
I'm avoiding women who are only attracted to me because of my criminal activities, but I still end up with them
'Bout to drop a thousand in my 'Rex, I whip the Super Bowl
I'm about to spend a thousand dollars on my brand of car, and it will be the best
Them foreign cars, I'm bored with 'em
I'm tired of foreign cars
'Bout to toss that in them
I'm going to discard them
Fuck a whip, I need a space coupe
I don't want a car; I want a spaceship-like vehicle
We in Doc drop, in that Delorean
We're in a location called Doc's Drop, and we're in a car that looks like a Delorean
Michael J. Fox, jumping out the pot, Michael J. Hops
I quickly and actively deal with drugs, like Michael J. Fox jumping around
Fuck rap, I can shave rocks, these slave-ass rappers can't drop
I don't care about rap music as I can sell cocaine, and these mainstream rappers cannot match my skills
Rolex say I'm on my eighth watch, wait, stop (yeah)
My Rolex watch tells me that I'm on my eighth one, wait a minute
Seven-figure nigga still at the store
I'm a drug dealer with a lot of money, but I'm still buying things at the store
While my groupies eat Domino's
While my female fans eat Domino's pizza
And my Houston hoes getting Pappadeaux's
My female partners in Houston get Pappadeaux's food
My Dominicano 'bout to drop a load
My Dominican friend is about to deliver drugs
I don't trust a soul, so a nigga drove
I don't trust anyone, so I drove myself
Hit the County, I was in the hole
I went to the County Jail and was put in solitary confinement
With some Black Stones and some Silent Fours
I was with Black Stone gang members and some silent weapons
I'm checked in, vest in, big bounty, rapper don dada
I'm ready to confront my enemies, wearing a bulletproof vest and I'm a respected rapper
I remember when I seen a rapper do a spot for 1-800-Crimestoppers
I witnessed a rapper advertise for a tip hotline called 1-800-Crimestoppers
I remember being on the run
I recall trying to evade the authorities
Smoking Swisher Sweets up in the Ramada (yeah)
I smoked cigars in the Ramada hotel room
Crime lord or Vice Lord, I'm the Underground King, Godfather
I have power over criminal organizations, and I'm the leader of the underground drug world
Nigga, what
What else do you expect from me?
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management
Written by: James Clay Jones, Frederick Tipton
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
@hakeemluqman
Alchemist one of the best producers
♥️♥️🙏🏻🙏🏻
@Awsme_J
HAKEEM LUQMAN that’s a fact, top 5 easily
@T0NYDADON
shit i think even that might be an understatement
@Abeee1905
the best
@kaycebaybee
i need a whole album w these 3
@MrDirtyd405
Alchemist do you see this👆🏽
@trentstone1409
Hell yes we do.
@KeepOnWithTheForce
this my favourite verse by Freddie hands down
@KeepOnWithTheForce
came back to say this beat is crazy ima be listening to this album til I die
@Abeee1905
fr this and Scottie Pippen's verse from freddie are the top 2 of mine