Lyrics:
Project Pat-a)
(Moet in my lap-a) Hold on
(Stayin on da grind, 'cause da loot gonna stack-a) Okay I'm ready
Who you need?
We just popped up on the scene
I
don't think you know what I meant
Bitch now it's my turn
You say I did you dirty when will these bitches learn
Shit only gets slimy when you bring in
the closer that I get feel like Project Pat
Feel like Bobby, Whitney on them drugs talkin bout crack is whack
Baby want a three five for a dub, like, baby,
runnin' still cause a nigga used to blow
If pockets low I'll let ya know (don't turn around)
A hair trigger that'll bust (don't make a sound)
I'm a tell
texted.
To be honest,
i don't know if we're finna be rich or not
But shii
We finna try good luck bro
Project X
I been stressing
Project X
So depressing
Gourmet special of the day is n*gga Souflee, pusher gotta pay
And the games people play, John J. back around the way
Fish filet, Mister DJ, turn it up
a Pat by the cut of your hair
But you all turn to Scotsmen as soon as you're here
You've left your own country for breaking the law
And we're seizing all
get da cheese, dats by any means
If ya real, then throw ya set, let me see ya sign
Project Pat, from the southside, out here on the grind
While
have never been equal
I dont project my insurecurity's at other people
he feeded for props like addicts with pipes and needles
so he felt he had to prove
the bitch to EverGreen
throw em in da bayou
call my niggas
D and Blue
Project Pat y'all know what to do
creep through the streets
with them thangs
[Fat Pat (Spoken)]
Say, fool, every time I turn around this girl steady lookin me in my
Eyes...What's the deal? You think she wanna hit it up?
Why
Yeah, okay like yeah, boy
Ayy, what's that? My nigga Gotti
And we know they fuck with you in my city
Like they fuck with you in my city
Project Pat
(You're crazy) On the Jaguars
Fuck it, on the Jaguars
I'm a Pats fan, put a thousand on the Jaguars
People enslaved by their psyche
They follow the rules
Billy, don't you turn your back on me.
Playin' around with some sweet senorita
Into her dark hallway she will lead ya
In some lonesome shadows she
the sport
Coats of the season
And surrounded by his whole Odd Future crew
The ascendant singer opens up to
Amy Wallace about his crazy
Year including the bomb
Grandma house is day care
We ain't have no day care
Punk as police come around
You know the never play fair
Caught us by inches
By selling crack by
A project minded individual, criminal tactics
Us black kids born with birth defects, we hyperactive
Mentally sex-crazed, dysfunctional, they describe us
Gourmet special of the day is n*gga Souflee, pusher gotta pay
And the games people play, John J. back around the way
Fish filet, Mister DJ, turn it up
Jackboy, he just wrote me
That nigga he like my kin
I be up all night on M's
I don't fuck around with no Xans
Supercharged, I'ma hit the game like a ram
You
Don't want me havin' no patience, turn into more patients
More trips to ICU 'cause I see you
Trying to get away with shit a real nigga wouldn't do
to mac 10's
QB's new born killers (shit is changed)
[Chorus x2]
[Nas]
Yo everytime I turn around, niggas shot, niggas stabbed
Winter nights, pregnant
Yeah, yeah, yeah
You was born in the eighties, pops drove a Mercedes
Did a bid, comin' home to some grown ass kid
Crack baby, turn to young
she in love with a dope boy
And she ain't worried 'bout them other hoes, old boy Mike got one
Don't be ashamed of the projects shawty, let 'em know
more cyphers
And I'll be cashin' big checks when it's my turn, uh
Bitch, I'm fly like Delta
Stumblin' around with a Bud Light seltzer
Tell your cat I
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