Lyrics:
Don't play me close, I'll have this mic up in your rear section
My shit is lovely simply meaning that my joint is tight
Amping up the mic making sure
you don't play with me at all (please)
Shots hit your ass and make three of y'all
It'll take three of y'all to fill one of my shoe prints
'Cause I
off of drug talk
(Told you they don't make niggas like the Butcher no more man)
Yeah, uh
In interviews talkin' Plug talk
Got my name off of drug
a crip or a blood but my gang with me
Me and my niggas don’t dance we hit the money dance when the
Cheque come our way
I was raised by Hip-Hop Tupac
And expect them not to know what a woman's clitoris is
Of course, they're gonna know what intercourse is
By the time they hit fourth grade
They've got
hit with reality
I got a long way to go for real, this shit baffling
90 mil on a crib and he not a athlete
If I don't make it for my family this shit
Intro: Puff Daddy
I'ma make you dance
And we won't stop, cause we can't stop (repeat 3X)
Don't stop
KRS-One
Puff Daddy
Bad Boy remix
Hit me baby
Ayo Game, this that '92 shit
We the Best dream team
They don't want us to have sauce on these shrimps and steaks
They don't want us on exotic
fore wall, necklace wearin' beard
You don't want this money till it's rich
Buy my album, coded by Dirty, set you free
Go against the grain, I got
God given
This is hard livin', mixed with Cristal sippin'
It's the most consistent, Hov
Give you the most hits you can fit inside a whole disc
and hit replay
I don't a hoot bout what you say
Give me a beat and I will slay
Call me evil or call me cray
Call me bad or call me names
I listen to Em
But by the time you hear it I hope it switch
I guess I ought to go do some rapper shit, get a couple of tats and do my taxes late
Hoping y'all listen,
'cause they don't understand
You can tell by how I walk
Man my pockets filled with green, I don't ever gotta talk
Probably see me in your city, heard it
drop it, got a album, never
They just hatin' cause my skin, but I'ma prove this shit to them
White, or black, or Asian, Indian, don't mean you can't be
the winter we out west yeah
Pocket rocket in my sock I'll hit you if you test it
You got me wrong if you don't think that I don't stay protected
Play these
flaw
Your album sales proves you’re not that hard
You getting crucified on these damn blogs
Cause you don’t got bars
And you don’t got heart and you got
and four chords repeated
Completed by a relatable lyrical concept about an ex or something
This isn't for the masses
It's for the
musically analytical
So
by a Mack truck
And don't come around forty and front and get tapped up
Cracked up, can't wait 'till this album is wrapped up
I'mma take you
pretending shit
Moved to LA
Shag by myself
No
I don't got no friends n shit
I stay away
Dey cutthroat
Before
I'll kill a nigga
I'm chill and stay in my lane
names up on this album if I wanted to
But honestly you'd profit from my name and I don't want you to
So, you'll remain anonymous, and I'll remain
it
You got me in album mode
Tryna hit new altitude
Pressure bring the bitch up out a dudes
Can think bout quiet a few
Sky dweller sky level, just
inside the game, it's too big
It's a tight fit never made a bad song
They don't come out of my lips
Got the game by the neck
Won't let go I got tight grip
getting pass-ons, be by-gones
Nevertheless is definitely hit and hits are what we strive on
We feel this way every single day all day
So make way
Was
I gotta a Peter tingle
Don't know who I am, Kris Kringle, nah uh
Ain't a miss, ain't a swish, hit the backboard, yessir
Like this, little spin, first
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