3 O'Klock'em

Don't forget the homies, they'z not phonies, you yappin' outta yo ass balogne. For the things you done, I oughta clock you homie. But I got yo watch befoe me, let time tell the consequences you owe me. Don't flake the block is on me, catch a hot one when the cops is on knees, lookin' for shell cases, the spot is on lock-free. You might be clear, but for the dogs, it's on g. I might be wrong, but still, it's on b. My blood runs thick, full of viscosity, like floatin' on oil, my pot lacks drops of debris. You mock to a degree, where it's to the point, you thought you'z a G, I'll put that O before it and let you sneeze one at me. I sit here laughin', with a joint stocked back to inventory. Pre-rolled wraps of joy leaf, keeps the boys at ease instead of three-fold wraps at 3.