Lyrics:
blow it to the ceiling
Tasting so sweet, bout the best I ever had
Picked up a fresh batch and they callin' it Superbad
I feel good god father of soul
You
Dry over time
Memories leave us
Melody and rhyme
When the cold wind blows
The seeds we gather
From the gardener's glove
Live forever
Nothing
blow up my phone but I'm not gonna answer it
Hit from the back, by the way, that she screams, I be making her cum right, she can't even handle it
10
I ain't fuckin with none of ya'll
Real ones be
Too hard to
Come by
No shade boy yeah
Let um sun dry
Truth is
You a bitch
Man that's no lie
Hot Damn
My how the boys grow?
From roaming low into homes
To homes of his own
No catching up he's in a whole 'nother zone
Still true to his
Hot Damn
My how the boys grow?
From roaming low into homes
To homes of his own
No catching up he's in a whole 'nother zone
Still true to his
to get somewhere
That's real and pure and true and eternal
Toby can you go with your boy, let's go
Father God, I am clay in your hands
Help me
was some commas and swag in designer fits
If you ain't talking business then you know I gotta dip
Got me all up in yo mix
Champagne come take a sip whoa
texting my phone make it blow up, I fuck her tonight, tomorrow, don't show up
I take that molly, mix it with a soda, I put a hole in that boy like a donut
tipsy
Four by four with some big ole' titties
Kenwood's bumping and I'm whippin' a shitty
Backroad travel with my boy's it's a given
Grandma told me
block wit' the same crew
'N' everybody sitting fat living good
'N' I'm the only nigga dat be rappin' in my hood
I was raise by the hustlas 'n' gain by
cup up I mix it up with purp
Man free my niggas man he just went berserk
So when I'm in the streets I gotta stay alert now man
I'm About make the world
been the same
And my production selection is still flame
But they love you on the
Come up 'cause you ain't
Tainted by fame And you
Still they little
just like a fiend
Open up the top and watch him clean
These days I don't worry 'bout a thing
Boy I been on top like what you mean?
Bro he stay on lit
Blowin loud til I'm deaf
Roll it til it's nothin left
Boy you a sideline like a cleft
I don't see the bench Ima starter
Comin straight up out that
this doe
And with a few good heaters
We can make some more
You only get something hot when
You face the mob
Probably blow a whole job with Escobar
From
(Damn, Spancy)
When I wake up gotta grab my fire
These niggas be waitin'
(These niggas be waitin')
What I look like gettin' killed by a opp
These
I'll make it worthwhile
And be the first to blow up since mount Kilimanjaro
When I write my lyrics down on a etch a sketch
I pledge it will be
klay and steph
When we be coming down the floor
Except my boy torch with his left
But regardless that bitch gone blow
And he couldn't even call for help
of a MacBook computer
Sooner or later, I might know when I'm gonna blow up
Just a man in his twenties all fully grown up
Mo bucks is what I might get
the floor, yeah
Remember when I took a bar, I was feelin' good, fuck a nigga hoe, yeah
Free lil jo up out them bars, have a nigga parked to get that nigga
That boy' some prick you know?
All up in my hair
Thinks that I care
Keeps following me here
Keeps following me there
These days I can't go no where
it by
Ice cream cake or runtz shit fucc it mix it together
Sound like one hell of a blend put both them bitches together
c couple hits then suddenly
get through this man, meet me by the sto'
And I don't know, what they told you boy
I got that A1, whole baking soda boy
You could add the B12, put it in
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