Lyrics:
in the house
Cloverdale is in the house
And Savannah, GA is in the house, so check it
February 1st, 1975 it happened
Was born in West Savannah
in the house
Cloverdale is in the house
And Savannah, GA is in the house, so check it
February 1st, 1975 it happened
Was born in West Savannah
the real Dill
Like my brother Tommy
We a couple rugrats
Ghetty green bitch
On some Project Pat shit
You waiting on a check
Cause they played you on your
tryna see if she
Can take it all night
Shoutout Project Pat for the flow
He’s a OG in the game you got to know
I don’t need no bass on my instrumental
Wake up and it's time to twist the blunt, where my blunt raps at
Bumpin' Project Pat, now I got a smokable Brush my teeth with orange juice, munchies
to the mic and then got attach
Hot headed nigga got cold with that
Put on for my city like Project Pat
Niggas out here will sell they soul for a Millie
But
I'm in here
Got all you freaks lookin'
When we walk by, pussy start cookin'
Rookies start tookin'
Get your ass up, V.I.P. Section's gettin' tooken
getting money but L cast the cheque
You sell blunt weed, Glock block, horizons
Niggas in the projects find ya hypnotizing
You clowns know when I bring
I hate cops and
Niggas with cop friends
And still by weight in the
Hood they drop ends
With little marks on 'em scratched by the eye
You hand me
the rep when I speak
Check the technique
I'm rushin you like a defensive end as I recommend
That you comprehend, I could stomp you in
A battle, contest,
Yeah
The Fat Gangsta
Here comes the nigga from the East
Who just been crowned for most hated by police
The public enemy rapper at large
Mic check, mic check
One (one), two (two), three (three)
Too many rappers, and there's still not enough MCs
It goes three (three), two (two),
with my wiz
Now she dead with my kids
I live by the subway, niggas push drugs in my hallway
All day everyday tryin to get the pay
And I be tryin'
you're too damn blind to see
Be a punchline in a killing joke
Just another death by selfie
Kennedy Cox broke into a building
80 stories up just
on any main stream artist and they ghost writer
Me by myself I'm my own writer
Hard not to sleep when i see your flow tired
I'm so wired
Once the project
really mattered
I remember wanting to be a rapper
I remember wantin to be a trapper
Never judge a book by its cover
When you could be
Getting sentenced in
they can check the score
Never complained when I
Never complained when I slept in dorms
I knew that I would take the world by storm
And that's the best
there's no cops on patrol I check my right and my left
Picture me riding through the city with criminal stealth
In my pockets it's minimal wealth
Roll alone
Something? I'm talking like I'm forty
Not me, born in '93
By then, have a time piece, gold teeth
Ain't there yet, still need more breesh
Smoke more bleeps
up, and let her know
You can quit ya job babe girl, let's go, trust trust
We gone ride till the tread thin
1 of them doors gone open, gotta let us in
projects
To dreaming and praying hard
Went from hustling in hells kitchen
They sniffin them white pills
From serving them block work
To helping the block
judge him by his past sins
Blasphemous pats on the back for these acts of compassion
When I'm speaking I'm begging your pardon
Come spend a week in my
bubble like Woolworth's
In the projects, richest niggas rockin' all the real worth
Police questionin', rooftop cats invested in
Tradin' in they Lexuses,
bubble like Woolworth's
In the projects, richest niggas rockin' all the real worth
Police questionin', rooftop cats invested in
Tradin' in they Lexuses,
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