4 9 3 11 Lyrics

I rock a kangol, custom jeans and fly pair of Jordans
I'm an element of rap, son, I hold my parts
I'm dilligent, my slang's like everday talk
Staten Island got gats, but no pork on the fork
Listen bredren, get off the 4-9-3-11
Got a cure for your headache, music is so Excedrin

It's Theodore, trained to kill like the Marine Corps
Northsure gorillas from the Islands mist With a wrist full of rocky stones, multiply cell phones
Flying in an out of zone, smash the Grammy's
Original raiders, hold on to your girl's panties
It's Wigs, academics, free books to brains
It's the bigger, the bigger when I'm buying my chains
So they can hang over the peanut butter and jelly Jackson
Custom made shit with the hostler for the ratchet

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