Lyrics:
[Diamond]
Niggas ain't fuckin wit D, fuckin wit me
Lookin at me like "Yo, what can it be?"
In the wide body-7 while you suckin the D
Spent out in
movie in my head, and you'll get the best experience
By listening to the 7 songs in order from start to finish
I kept this project intentionally short
sees it
It's therapy season!
You want album 3? Then give me a reason!
Why should I bother stressin' again?
Why should I wake up depression again?
Won't
confused
The last album raised the bar, but this gon' tear off the roof
Read all about it, get your fix in, I'm independent
Ain't got a deal, but I can tell
(Drop the fucking album!)
(Bro, you've been talking about this album for months, when are you going to drop it?)
(Seriously, si-six, seven months
for me
First the one
And then came the two and three and four
Five, six, seven, shots from a MAC-11
Platinum producer killed by haters
Tonight
want to be,
You're gonna have to learn pimpology.
Pimpology, a pimp's profession.
Can't be effected by the Great Depression.
So if you want to be
profession.
Can't be effected by the Great Depression.
So if you want to be giant sized,
Come to my school. Get pimp-matized.
In your school, what do they
smoking D
Every rap I ever made was about this town
I made seven whole albums with no James Brown
And even though I love his music, I just can't stand
pollinated by the "Be"
Pac called it the rose that rose from concrete
How do you define divine that finds street?
"Hip bop," the color of my leaves
Not
ain't got to get all extremely too personal on your albums
When you not surrounded by bigger artists to fucking boost you
Nigga you called me, I didn't
best to behave
I'm seven dollars a record makin heftier pay
Can you realize platinum artist buck by buck, is that what you say?
200 thousand sold
'ma mort, c'est l'album de ma vie
J'suis rentré dans ta tèss, y avait pas tant d'cadors
Les pules-cra vendent la mort, j'm'en fous d'tes ventes balourd
Been working on your new album for two years strong
You still can't come up with the right song
You know what they say, "Study long, study wrong"
All
or nicest
Like ice is I'm priceless, plug the mic to it
Come with the D with the I with the S to the S's, see whose hype is
Test the test the Treach
record
I'd always be recording in the attic or wherever I could so, I love you
I thank you for supporting me there
But then, she was like, "you gotta
an album by Traverse
c collection of different emotions, thoughts
Triumphs and tribulations
Enjoy
I've been saying I'm the greatest while low-key hanging it up
Can't tell if it's depression or me just not giving a fuck
Album's been done for a year
song
(That's foolish man, what's he got now
7 million albums? Ha!)
They said I wasn't from the streets
When I was working behind the scenes
Shit
a fuck if they like me or not
I'ma raise this bitch
'Til you little fucks drop to the floor
Nobody move, nobody make a sound
My nigga, why'd ya got
pounds of back bacon
Three French toast
Two turtlenecks
And a beer, in a tree
Beauty, eh?
Where'd you learn to do that?
Uh, albums
Boy, so, like,
Do the D-A-N-C-E, one, two, three, four, fight
Stick to the B-E-A-T, get ready to ignite
You were such a P-Y-T, catching all the lights
Just easy
Yeah we back
You already who it is
I thought you've been though
Respect me
Throw your tites up
I swear you'd be like you'd be like yeah
Use your ears
pounds of back bacon
Three French toast
Two turtlenecks
And a beer, in a tree
Beauty, eh?
Where'd you learn to do that?
Uh, albums
Boy, so, like,
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