Lyrics:
a gap
You done proving that's what said by a fan
Ma mo fa nu serious me de me fa no fun
Nti na mo dropi yearly nor bi say we dey run
Ma mo nny3 ted3 mo
a step
I can make a hundred thousand just sitting by the steps
I can count a hundred thousand with my feet in the chair
I can pull the baddest broad in
tabernacle, churches
Yeah (Hit-Boy)
Look, I can't even chill I get active, overdoin' everythin' my best and worst habit
Shit be impossible 'til it happens,
I was born amazing, that was 1996
20 years of getting walked on, still feels like I’m the shit
Feel the coins inside my head the dreams of getting
hits the fan at high noon
Peep cats cooking but they light spoons
Guess they clucks fool
Done playing the game feeling like Saw
On edge so drop back
at my feet
Roses at my feet
Yeah roses at my feet
Yeah roses at my feet
Yeah roses at my feet
Yeah roses at my feet
You ain't shit
You ain't ever gonna
consolation
Man, you couldn't drop that shit like you was constipated
Everybody doubts you when you starting out
But they'll throw roses at your feet, roses
and I sent em
He play wit the fam I'm a blitz 'em
He get out of pocket we hit 'em
I'm spazzing on shit is you listening?
I'm vicious
Don't play with that
Hit the door, I ain't taking this shit no more!
Spending all my cream on Gucci, Phillies and Coach
Before you moved to my lab, bitch, I ain't
Two three four
One two three four
One two three four
One two three four
One two three four
One two three four
One two three four
One two three four
lil bitch she a fan
She gone fuck right on me and my mans
I get money that's just who I am
He was talking that shit on the gram
When we seen that young
Hold on to me
Until the end
I will never let you go
So don't pretend
I just wanna be with you
When the shit hits the fan
So hold my hand
Until
the kitchen listen man I got my deep hooks in yeah
Verse 3
I’m way better than the other shit right now I’m boarding the mothership
Im orbiting while I hover
'Melo cause scoring is my shit boy
I'm CP3 'cause I be dishin' and handlin' the rock
Chef cooking with the pot boy
It's all about the muthafuckin' money
by the seven where them drills bring joy uh uh
What you saying about the score? forty-three that's the opps maybe add a couple more Uh uh
You're kind
musta seen me comin'
Ain't this life so fuckin' great
When the shit hit the fan
It was all I could stand
Yeah, well I'm a frequent flyer
My body's
to see what my name 'bout
I gotta thank my own dad for being my lone fan
Inspired by me just to pick up a notepad
And that's the whole reason that I gave
nigga, I shoot a movie
BSY Klann, nigga we be the movement
We walkin' shit down, nigga, I thought you knew this
When it come to this rappin' shit, nigga, I
had me sea sick
When she split
I dove on some g shit
Went down on some freak shit
Then drowned on some geek shit
At they let me re hit
Real shit though
Kick shit like my feet up stripe like Adidas
Lil' WhoaWhoa still wit it he hit at them people
We pop out at night like some muhfuckin' demons
I G'd
to a childhood, need to be loved
By parents that was in too deep with the drugs
Nigga, my advice, fuck the black and white shit
Be who you are, identify
a hip-hop fan
Hey DJ (you're on the line girl)
Hey DJ (on the request line girl)
Play a record by my favorite band
We comin' through to take control
me to hit the floor
One ounce, two ounce, three ounce, four
How much of this shit did a nigga really smoke
Y'all don't see me in the mix cause I'm
dumber and dumber I'll have you done by the summer
I'll hit your girl with the lumber then pull away in a hummer
These niggas waited to get the ball then
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