Lyrics:
Spot the traps
Rep my sets
Straight like that
Could never fall back
I rather step back like James Harden, smoothly kill em with grace when I pull up
on the floor
I'm like John Travolta, suede blazing with my chest showing
Rings and them hard jeans, please, I'm comfy in the spot
So I'm never handcuffing my
them hammers
In that new Jag wagon, with James Bond vagrant
Medina all - red; mira give me - head
Bad bitch, look like Eva Mendes
I'm a gangsta, general,
them hammers
In that new Jag wagon, with James Bond vagrant
Medina all - red; mira give me - head
Bad bitch, look like Eva Mendes
I'm a gangsta, general,
Dada
Top Shotta
What I create is BIG
Like Voletta Wallace
In BK
Walking by
Fulton & St. James
Felt the soul of a legendary rebel
Staying on my hustle
Written by: James Ray, Sal, Dido Brown
Blood,(what set you from) Crip,(what set you from)Tears,(what set you from)
You gotcha mama crying
Check the process,
Playtime's over like the game ended,
The spot's hot fireplace flames in it,
All these rappers out her lyin' bout how they holdin'
mercy No mercy No mercy from me
Forevermore
No mercy No mercy No mercy from me
Forevermore
Mercy Mercy Mercy Me
Electrifying peep the man see spot em
Got
making moves went from a pony to a stallion
One down
Like a double-barrel buckshot
Two rounds
Trouble put you in a tough spot
Three pounds of the bubble
Off instrumentals, had my pencil and plus my paper
We caught the 86 Lithonia headed to Decatur
Writing rhymes, tryna find our spot off in that light
on, i want the head
Conversation, not about a ticket, I leave his ass on read
Spot an opp, I hop out and get him, they call me James Bond
Gotta keep my
Or gasoline spark a match the only way you niggas hot
Lower tier giving head the only way you niggas top
Bron James on the block I swear to God you niggas flop
a bitch who keep a stick, she pull it quick, she think she G.I
James, Ape Petite, I need a plane, she petite, I beat her frame
I don't pay for nothing, if
to fall back
Whisk up my spot, but I was right back
Fire car popped by the Lord's rack
Bayside nigga where my home at
551, that's my government
My first
don't wanna be on my own)
Yeah, she left me all by my lone (lone)
Aye, too many bands that I got in my pocket
I'm boutta take off just like I'm a Rocket
and James, I gotta go hard
Give it my all, give my everything, Cause daddy love y'all
Don't want y'all to hoe, don't Want you movin' drugs, hope y'all Be smart
Cadillacs protected by' whoever?
The red and the black, green, Hilfiger nigga
Indians want to protect the Lone Howling Chief
So kids create beef
Beef
I had to rubber band my bankroll stuff in my pocket
Cuz you know that shit too sloppy
All in Houston toting pocket rockets
13 Shots call him James
Yeah yeah, oh
Yeah yeah, oh
Yeah yeah, oh
Yeah yeah, oh
I'm really just fueled by the way that the music plays
Run it up in many different ways
Don't
at the spot wit uh crooked i
Philly wit uh 5 bag n up uh quarter pound
Bump n thug life neighbors yelling turn it down
Switch it to no surrender then turn that
Dress to kill by the grim reaper
Alumni snap, fuck Tisa
You niggas all dressed in fuck-season,
I walk thru the sand in these Lebron James South Beachers,
spot where
Niggas tried to stretch me at
Thirty, that's a dick nigga
I only want the house in hills
Hands on thuggin' nigga
Still play the battlefield
I
with JFK on Marilyn Monroe...Oh
"Blow the spot with some old school shit" - Rah Digga on Talib Kweli's "Down For The Count"
"I'm so old school"-
going for the Tony's
We would live and we die we drink to get high
And that's all that was promised
And it all goes by in the blink of an eye
Yeah it all
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