Straight outta New York, now I’m posted in the Mo,
Five years deep, still move with that East Coast flow.
Bought a crib six months back, finally touched a little peace,
Then the Feds hit the driveway like they raidin’ overseas.
Fifty deep at my spot, swear to God it looked military,
Three snipers on the roof like I’m public enemy.
ARs out, flashbangs, neighbors all scared,
Over weed in a state with dispensaries everywhere.
All this over marijuana? Man this shit don’t click,
Dispensaries open daily but they kicked in my shit.
Broke my peace for some weed while the state makin’ bread,
Guess legality don’t matter when the Feds involved instead.
I’m from New York, baby, I done seen cold nights,
But Missouri taught me quick how they play with your rights.
Built my life from the mud, put my name on a deed,
Then they stormed my front door over bags of some weed.
Had me barefoot in the yard while they searched every room,
Flashlights cuttin’ through my brand-new living room.
Ripped cushions off the couches, threw my clothes on the floor,
Like Bluee was El Chapo with a tunnel and war.
One fed smirked while they boxed all my jars,
Another countin’ grinders like they cataloguin’ cars.
I just laughed in they face like, “Y’all serious right now?”
Fifty agents for some weed got me puzzled somehow.
No cartel ties, no blood on my hands,
Just a hustlin’ ass woman tryna stick to the plan.
But they came like a movie, whole scene unreal,
Had sniper beams touchin’ down all over the field.
Now the house smell gone but the anger still strong,
Turned my life to a headline just to say they was wrong.
Three sniper scopes aimed at a twenty-seven-year-old,
For a little marijuana? Yeah, this country cold.
Still stand ten toes, never fold under pressure,
Bluee from NY, I survived every test.
They can take every gram, every lighter, every jar,
But they can’t raid the fire that made me who we are.
