Lyrics:
need a poo
Pull up with a star, and I got stars in the ceilin', too
7K a month on the rent, you should see the view
I wish Billy could see it too,
to shoot
I just wanna count this damn cash
I just want my loot
Only thing that I gotta do
Is stay up in this booth
Shawty said she wanna f**k with me
She
side, now I'm in another zone
Switch flows, fuck 'em up
Play the game, run 'em up
Yeah I sold a couple records but people don't give a fuck
All
ni**as scope why these ni**as broke
But I'm gone give em hope I got the game by the throat
Where I'm from that money we call it cho
Bank roll after
rib-eye steaks in the hood now
Surround myself with sticks like I live in the woods now
No more playing mechanic I put the hood down
Yeah the gang a dubb
the game like three at the buzzer
Harder than the prison wall
Hitting y'all all
Up in critical condition it's official
When my clique involved
Listen y'all,
a minute of ya time baby - I don't want much (whoo!)
Lemme talk to these motherfuckers, uhh
Guess who's bizack?
You still smelling crack in my clothes
a tactic to snatch it, strap back and stack some platinum
Double on the mag random, with the bullets I brand em
Finna hold the game ransom
Runnin' up in your
We don't play no (games, games main),
We came here to (bang,)
Give it up, (Give it up) Give it up *(Give it up for my) people hey yay yeah
(hellle
at
Brooklyn beef! Who want that?
I grew up in the thoroughest borough - B.K.
Where B.I.G. had everybody rockin' D.K.
Gav was the first dude with the C.L.K
they neighborhood
How the fuck you good nigga
I'm all in Jamaica wit all my shit on by myself throwin' dat shit up
My passport tatted up just like me
I'm
and watch it all explode
Round 'em up, round 'em up
Shoot the messenger
Still tellin' tales till the nail's
In the coffin wood truth tellin' lies
So you aim
A rapper? I'm an artist
I just rap for fun but
Still do it the hardest
How I started was a baby given
Birth to by the Carters
2Pac, Biggie, Nas, Rakim my
runnin' up in Saks with the ill army
Shake Feds, play dead, yo check out what Rae said
Lay on your hands, let the Branson break bread
High energy, all
the songs
I no longer love them
And by the time I love her
I find reasons not to trust her
But here I go still working
When in the back of my mind I'm still
dropped out of Cooley High gassed up by a cutie pie oh
Damn I wish I could tell you all of it the real nigga in me can't do it
I had pain on top of pain
came up in hotboxes so this shit don’t even fuck with my vision
20/20 I see it
2020 Still mine, believe it
Lost some niggas and that really made me get
pilot heights I hit
50k thats not rich, 60k thats not rich, 80k thats not rich, 100k thousand...
Hold up give me that yo
Flip those thousands still
Aye say K.T.
I remember bra'
Standing out ten of us
Flip a bird split it up
Antenna stickin' up
For crooked cop patrollin'
If the red dog
a minute of ya time baby - I don't want much (whoo!)
Lemme talk to these motherfuckers, uhh
Guess who's bizack?
You still smelling crack in my clothes
my hood where I was born and raised
Where niggas tote semi-automatics, bustin' them K's
Heavy guns and dope boys harassed by the police
Still
the 'caine
Then I wrapped the yayo up in cellophane
My shooter got Dame Lillard from the elbow aim
I thought of that while I was courtside at the Melo game
(Maybe in this song, you shouldn't start by saying)
Nigga, I said it, I know that you mad
I've emptied the clip over friendlier jabs
You mentioned
I got found in the mud
Now redeemed by blood
Guess that make me clean clean
Like I'm in the suds
God still drawing men in like a strip club
All
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