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"Cigar Smoke" lyrics by TROY AVE
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"Cigar Smoke"
[feat. King Sevin]

Just let the pain out
Baby! When I'm in it she screams my name out
Tr-oy Av-e (One two One two)
B$B shit, Brooklyn, Real Life

[Verse 1: Troy Ave]
I got this burning desire to be better than most
That's probably the main reason I'm on the come up like spokes
See me in magazines, Modeling for liquor and smoke
But I keep a magazine, Confused that pretty shit and get smoked
I'm not the one to provoke
I don't make sense I just reach
Was given the world by my moms, Still I took to the streets
Where heart beats get shorten, The main focus is ballin
Had many gambles with life, And every time I was all in
My style, Was never determined by mics in the Source
Been fly since dollar fries with ketchup and hot sauce
I used to cut my wings up
Then I fucked my dreams up
No NFL,.. Still cuttingwings up
Bird ass niggas there's no relation
I cannot consider you real if you ever was hating
Unless your team playing
You might call Bron a bum but you ain't really mean it
You just mad cause he dropped 40 on Brooklyn I seen it
And felt the same way
Once I got up out my feelings still had to sling ye
Them seats ain't cheap
Win or lose still struggle, Mickey Mantle don't love you
So I fistaled out the Bronx
Fishscale for my hustle, Mufuckas

Just let the pain out
When I'm in it she screams my name out
Tr-oy Av-e
B$B shit, Brooklyn

[Verse 2: King Sevin]
Ayo! This my New York life
Getting money underneath the city lights
I put food on that table, Every motherfuckin night
They say you living fast you eventually die slow
It don't matter when you get it in bulk like Cosco
Ain't taking no losses I creep on the block slow
Any type of sudden movement I'm letting them shots go
At these fake real niggas I don't play them fair
Cause they been there since before I had facial hair
I ride through, And all I get is facial stares
Let a nigga try it he gone have to get his face repaired
Yeah, that's how a nigga on it
Ask me, "What it's looking like?"
I'm a tell you I can't call it
Though I ain't living right so I say my prayers every morning
Thanking God for this fly shit and nigga be important
In it for the moment, Suckafree and staying humble
When you out here in this concrete jungle
Word UP


[Verse 3: Troy Ave]
BSB Records, The future is here
I'm the only nigga not spitting chuck shit in your ear
You can verify all my raps, double check and be clear
"Did you really tote all them gats and deal crack?" Hell yeah
Don't forget about my woman
They all fine and on deck
I only drink Cristal or Imperial Moet
No more weak ass Rose, That's why the game too sweet
We don't wear tight ass clothes
We don't do down south beats
That ain't New York, I restore our identification
Cause dickriding never been a form of transportation
That ain't New York, I restore our identification
Cause dickriding never been a form of transportation


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