Break Bread

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Rolondo Rich

3:06

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And they gotta break bread
Rolando Rich
And they gotta break bread
Spodey Fontana
And they gotta break bread

Ayyy
Jumpin' off the curb with a elbow
Yeah, I'm violent with the finance
Glock 17 with that beam and that silence
Pride Hoodstar, walkin' like I talkin
A four-time loser, boy, won't hesitate to chalk shit
Y'all hangin' out with losers
My whole section filled with bruisers
I just left that hood on my blue beach cruiser
Menace to society, they took my sobriety
Burnin' rubber in that foreign whip
Givin' up that 40s dick
Boutta bag, boy, I'ma get my chip
Ask about Roe
Everybody know I get it on the low
I like to play broke and stack up my dough
There's only one thing, I love playin' hoes
So I'm backin' in that VIP, hoppin' out that Rose
And I'm on that Rose
I rip bricks into a house like I'm Jose
Started with a Quavo
Now they call me the Black Don Diego
Hey ho, watch what you say though
Reckless on my phone to get you a dial tone
I'm that B-Blow hookah, gettin' my clown on
Bout to jump on a jet and run up a town
I'm in that pocket, ten toes down
It's Hail Mary, till they bury me at G
I was raised in a pound, I'm a hoof with a Cherokee
Gunpowder pitbull with a fist full of blues
They think I'm Buck's clan
Hoppin' out like Horace Grant in that Rose truck, man
Plenty of them bust downs, but we rather bust bands
Only time I touch hands when a nigga touch down
And they gotta break bread
And they gotta break bread
And they gotta break bread
I got my crown on, we back home when we roam
I got that bag on me, don't be playin' I'm grown
I got that mag on me, you mind your own, you live long
End up a grandpappy, get the pig in your nose
They sweepin' your froze and taggin' your toes
And meanwhile, I'm chasin' paper while you chasin' hoes
Livin' with your mama and wearin' your homie's clothes
No more Roof Crest and Berry's Cafe
That EDD and PPP done burnt out like a souffle
Now you lookin' thirsty, bout to blow off your toupee
And I can't lie, sometimes I feel like Tupac
Cause I can't go nowhere without bustin' this new Glock
They say it's thug life, blue and big, run it home down
I'm in that pocket, ten toes down
It's Hail Mary, til they bury me a G
I was raised in a pound, I'm a wolf with a Cherokee
Gunpowder pitbull with a fist full of blues
They think I'm Bucks Clan
Hoppin' out like Horace Grant in that Rose truck, man
Plenty of them bust downs, but we rather bust bands
Only time I touch hands, when a nigga touchdown
And they gotta break bread
And they gotta break bread
And they gotta break bread
And they gotta break bread

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