Lyrics:
that hot, shaking ale
And say "free young struggle" who's not making bail
He got popped by the feds
Fuck the cops! Take an L
Fuck it take M-N-O-P
that hot, shaking ale
And say "free young struggle" who's not making bail
He got popped by the feds
Fuck the cops! Take an L
Fuck it take M-N-O-P
attention
I was distant
I focused on the posters on my wall
Caught a vision
Now my words fall in rhythm
HIP HOP made a difference
Making albums ain't
of breath
And the roof on the coupe had a sudden death
It got chopped like a guillotine, R-I-P
Ego up, but it go down in the 3
If we beef I wouldn't want
She was thirteen and good we had a hotter date
It was just a number she never told she was knocked up
By the end of the summer chick almost had me
Rule number one is get money
Number two is get money, R.I.P. to Young Dolphin
Everything black on black, yeah
Amex, melanated dark skin
Y'all runnin'
backwards
The signs more encrypted than Stalin's passwords (For real)
My enemies must like Kendrick Lamar's DAMN
Album, the way I got 'em talking backwards
fine
(I f***ed 'round and hit it)
F***ed around and slipped and hit that p**** one mo' time
(I f***ed 'round and hit it)
And got caught up in
Fart 1, Fart 2, Fart 3
They're long streams of pure poetry, formed by as many searchable keywords as possible
This is where the work transcends
Every
"Okay, contestant number two
Do you have the answers?"
"No, no, I don't"
I was walking on the water when I saw a crocodile
He had daisies in
"Okay, contestant number two
Do you have the answers?"
"No, no, I don't"
I was walking on the water when I saw a crocodile
He had daisies in
of a magazine ain't even got a album out
Hop at da streets my delete cuh my hits out
Now I'm da one everybody wanna talk about
Hustle hard ball harder dats wat I
Mr. Big Dreams no tolerance
Cut you at the house and haven't hollered since
Get bored quickly
He stay grown
So the p-a-tron had to get poured
Talking:Cuz I'm tellin you man they ain't nothing else to talk about
the same shit every motherfuckin album, I don't give a damn how many he put
out
shoot it right in your arm
Bitches been on the relapse, indoor pool number three lap
P.O. stopped by to see me, I'm cool, where that weed at?
Smoke one
Mariana Trench
And thinkin', holdin' my breath, until I feel 3-2 like Wretch
Until my last bastard breath
I'ma cut man down on a barberous flex
Who
my album was coconuts so they rewound it
I knew they was hypnoholics by how their voices sounded
I pull a silver can out of my trousers
Paid
words nigga duffel bags I just know it so well
I can't help but brag, old man got 10 mail man got 3
And just your luck the rap game got me hold up
all night
Someone get an IV since I was eleven
Boston Kyrie in the basement by leans
Dank after the P, bro I call that my team
Someone get the visine, I
of you
Yo swag looking rusty you should prolly stop at a Jiffy lube
Whole gang animals, met 'em by the county zoo
We like causing chaos like the city
moves on, we’ll see
Who can survive
Just like the rule of three
Things come in succession
That is the lesson
So if I drop a song or album
Just know
band man like Ryan Giggs number 11,
World War III will not bring joy,
No parents will enjoy,
Sending their girls or their boys,
Fighting someone else's
On a different planet yeah I'm past gone
You claim you running numbers up but tell me what the stats on
All y'all bitches was capping, made em put the hats on
Got
Mhmmm
Mhmmm
Mhmmm
Is you really mad you don't get the same attention you did before album mode?
Sweetheart, you ain't top three
Its Jesus, then
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