Lyrics:
up like carpaccio, nigga
Extra thin
Yo, I play with cold stoves so
Hot it'll break the Pyrex
Yellow and black Wu Nikes go
With the Pittsburgh Pirates
that's why I had the blacks do a nine on me
And one day, she'll be on the grind like me
Doin' music, spittin' on the hype like me
Eskigirl sprayin'
not to chill with niggas
Now I'm backseat, I'm like Malcolm on the black street
With the album, I'm an athlete
The way I be makin' the track meet
never get rich surrounded by broke customers
You gotta learn to maneuver through the tight spots
Dirty bike cops keep searchin' a nigga Nike socks
I
made an album for you
What if it was by you for me?
I see your grin everytime my eyes are opened
'Cause when they're closed it's 'cause you chose I
album, in one night
I just wanna make things right
I just wanna walk in the path of light
Right hand to God, yeah, shining super bright
In this very
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
Melanites
THE SOUL
BLACK SPACE UNIVERSAL FLOW
BONGS COVERED IN GOLD
BLUNTS ARE HONEY ROLLED
I DIP BACK
KICK BACK
LOTUS POSITION
MIND FOCUSED
skeleton key
But don’t you to wanna be a inspiration to me?
In an instance a child's life was ended
By the hands of a four foot menace like Dennis
love, I was born on the seaside
Album cut classics, fan lose it off the B-sides
Rappers better throw up their peace signs or resign
Find a change a plans
A lil birdie said that my album would flop
He said I was wack, she said that I suck
Well your whole crew is suffering like a black duck
Put the white mask
the key to that Boat
All my cars black on black except the one with big gloss
Got another white on white I call that ho rick Rick Ross (Ross) (Ha ha ha
away and let him be
He?s got a shotgun so go back home (Who? Who?)
Cause you?ll never get Mr. Jones (Mike Jones)
[Verse 2]
I used to get dissed by
I do not give a fuck (A fuck)
I just played some keys and some strings that I plucked (I plucked)
If you caught slippin' by me that sucks ( That's
on yo list
Pretty sure it was Cole, Drake, Larry June, me and Spitta
By the time you hear this, it be, early Yesvember
Wrote this verse on October first
a few toys like a happy meal
All black AMG
Wood grain on the dash by the steering wheel
Tinted windows can't see
Run it up let's get the cheese
Im him
by the water cooler
Probably gonna overdose
Before I get this album to ya
I make my money
I don't let my money make me
I go crazy over money
So
person from way back
Silked out with the shades black
Play the blocks where they blaze at
Sprayed at maybach like a German car
Consistently with currency
album
Wondering what my outcome
Want the black triangle but I'm
Real with or without one
Cuase I'm a still sport wrinkled Armani jeans
Smokin' beedies
brought more pain actually
Her master key, that friendship's hyped up, formers attackin' me
Beautiful flashbacks, funerals matte black
Distractions
her story—did anybody ask?
Hm, with all disrespect
I think the American flag was designed by fags
I had it locked before the spotlight
I got a gold
Melodically and sonically the best and
Ironically was choir boy MVP
You can't tempt me i used to get head by the
Pews during father franks hour-long homilies
that shit ain't often
A black nigga that balled, man that shit ain't common
They thought I'd be a typical black nigga
Making notes out of keys like
a thousand sheets of acid
and distribute it witcho' album, no doubt that'll be a classic
Dude lockin up every fashion, whether it's dope from weed to coke
from
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