Pitchfork Pride from Hard Hill

Yo. I, I, I, I.

I'm joking with a bottle, that's my kind of drink. Type of man

that kills if you touch my clink. Got a twisted smile and a

bottle in hand. Even drunk as hell, I still speak my land.

Need a smoke and a mint, keep my head aligned. Need a chick

that spins tricks and waits for her dime. Two hits in, man,

I'm shocked to the bone. Eyes wide open, brain half gone. Walking through the

street, yeah, I'm paranoid still. Feeling like the crowd gon' test