Lyrics:
bums watch your back for jumps
Caught before a fake twenty dollar bill
Get 'em son, we ain't the one
Politickin', purse vickin', sick of these
bums watch your back for jumps
Caught before a fake twenty dollar bill
Get 'em son, we ain't the one
Politickin', purse vickin', sick of these
I built this shit!
Me!
Brick by Brick!
You think its one thing
But the distraction be hittin'
Cut into fractions the ribbon loosening
Cruisin' but
smoke it
Talkin' you gon' be in L.A. in three hours
It's a 5-hour flight, put this bum in the shower
Pussy, I'm not a rookie, akhi, don't push me
guaranteed
Jack:
Try any banker, bum, or barber ...
Skittery:
They almost all knows how to read!
Kid Blink:
I smell money
Crutchy:
You smell foul!
Mush:
Call me stink
When I making this money
Loud 20 100s n 50s
Na I don't carry change
I carry bands
Keep up with me
If you wasn't hating on me
You be
in the back you put a gun to my face
Sent a bum in ya place like you won in a race
For chopping up bricks running back
Like Giz effort vs reward nigga
Throwing strikes like I'm bowling dawg
Niggas talking down on my name
Bitches wishing they could fuck
Pressure on my head
Change the fitted to a skully
A bum
hobbies boy a bum
Can barely feel I'm smoking runtz
If I make it up it won't by luck
Ey Make em fall like dominos
Smoking good gas to my brain
The only
a player
I turn a double R to twenty to twenty birds of Jada
Then moved into picket like Will before the label
We ball so hard like the ball's on every
for daughters and their moms
Paparazzi not in fashion
The internet in every ration
To the grace from degradation
Like by like it is my passion
Cara
of candy
And to that nigga that greet you i need a hand full of answers
Like whats yo credit score
Nah but you cant be no bum
What yo people like was yo
after twenty nine, just to be safe
I'M BY F2R, MY 9WN WORST ENEMY!
NO OTHER MOTHERFUCKER HAS DONE SO MUCH TO STOP ME!
Notebooks filling up, but it feels
bail
Join the army, if you fail
Look out kid
You're gonna get hit
But users, cheaters
Six-time losers
Hang around the theaters
Girl by
twenty-five Puerto Ricans, Manhattan Mohicans
And Jewish-Italian Pawnbrokers
Lead their theatrical lives in their rooms in the wings
While outside in
You know how Mac play, quiet town, tie it down
I supply it now, by the pound
Might front you a Q if you buy a pound
If you didn't try it then, why
Last night I saw a suit give a buck to a bum
20 feet down the street, someone yelling, look up
Some girl, maybe eighteen, probably drunk
Just in
bez ściemy obczaj
Ponad 20 lat na mostach
Kocham to miasto jak Kendrick Compton L.A. Evidence
Detroit J Dilla New York Underachievers
Budzę się tutaj i
bail
Join the army, if you fail
Look out kid
You're gonna get hit
But users, cheaters
Six-time losers
Hang around the theaters
Girl by
a letter from my old best friend
Doing twenty-five in the federal pen
want to come home but he said until then
Could I look over his three children
They
a letter from my old best friend
Doing twenty-five in the federal pen
Wanna come home but he said until then
Could I look over his three children
They
of trains and sirens
Make lovely music while I sleep
I'm going farther than I ever thought far could be
By twenty one I had a gun and ditched authority
I miss that New York City coffee
served-up twenty-four hours-a-day
it gives you the right kind of jitters
in a nice kinda bittersweet way
I don't
on
The homie Great John on the beat, by the way
Don't Come Outside, Volume 3 out now
(Great John on the beat, by the way)
I'ma fan Heavenly Father but
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