3 verses, no chorus - straight no chaser

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3rd song in a studio all night series

we all riding out on this shit

Munch:
I'm out fa' da 6inch dimensioanl green tender
government issued and printed
streets got hold and re-invented
to complete corner transactions evolving ever constant
now it's daps and hugs to trade the contraband that holds us hostage
to this money game - dead presidents livin my life for me
caught up hostile environments tryin to make these papers stack
delayed by cracks in the wind when gats clap at the skin, these actual facts that I spit about these tracks that rail us in -
it's a heaven really, hell is spelled out in all our greetings
so we say what up to allieve us of these down bottom feelings
street dealing aint sh*** and we aint sh*** we cop sh*** with it
but the satisfaction given to my peeps believe its worth the sinning
.....it's birth we givin
to hustlas who's purpose in the game is simply livin
when....and whip appeals within ya grasp
the question's not to be answered when it's preceeded by who to blast?!
It's simple math, yo - one less cat to worry about can multiply my stash tenfold so -
WHOS THE CAT THAT GOTTA GO?