Lyrics:
I drank mud by the case
And I bump with the bass
And my J's ain't laced
No no
I keep birds at my place
I ain't never gone chase
Just Gs
with my n*ggaz
Yeah
Fly to France with my n*ggaz
Aces of spades
Poppin' Dom Perignon
By the case
Do whatever we want
Cup of Henny
Cup of Dusse
of you niggas still sleep on me
We ain’t out here catching Z’s homie
Dodging cases felonies homie
Get money by any means
This is the life that you dream
somebody by their steering wheel
'Cause you know that mother fucker in that Ford Taurus
Could be the next mother fucker in that new Porsche
But like I
Mwebekala chalo, Umuluanshyani
Been raised by a praying mother
Never gangster pa musalaba
I follow label, Mfwala label
I like the money na yellow
around my city, I see halos
Drop a hater with them knots, case closed
Live life fuego
When I die, I'ma go enjoy hell with diablo
I drop big shit like
Ohhhh label me love so you can find me easy
Open me up girl any time that you need me
And when you find out the way you are
You won’t have to look
die young
Well known in the hood
Victim of a shell
That was thrown in the hood
Left owning the hood
With a legendary status
Loved by the thugs
100 bands was my first major plan
And all that started changing when I got fans
By the age of 10 I was married to the bread
And I'm a stay going in
the damn lies
Blind away the bad lights
They wanna put you in chains
Subconsciously got your brain
They label us by the name
And burn us by the flame
Hot
QC the label, and we independent
Got some young niggas still kickin' doors
And some of my niggas convicted
Money, money, power, respect
I guess
to
Stay the label and management then
Decided to build our
Band up the grass-roots route they put Hayley
On Fueled by Ramen not making
It known she was
on me
Ridin' 'round through the whole city by my lonely
I don't ride around with different niggas, just my homies (facts)
Ridin' 'round got them drugs
fifty deep
But they be fuckin' cowards when they by they selves
You know who I'm talkin' about
(You know who I'm talkin' about)
That's right, you
fuckin fifty deep
But they be fuckin cowards when they by theyselves
You know who I'm talkin about
(You know who I'm talkin about) that's right
You ain't
ain't a dope by 'til yo ass got a gun and chain
It's my time (It's my time, yeah, oh)
It's my time (I'm gonna shine, I'm gonna shine)
It's my time
Expressive
Oh?
Wait
What?
Nah, nah
You want the knife in my back?
Don’t make me laugh
Give me the cash!
I’m making heat everyday
Just find me a label
I know I look good, don't it
Colors in my chain match my shoes, don't it
Nothing bout me ever been phony
They'll label me as the drip donor
Lame ass
Still underground, Harriet Tubman
I made my own industry
Labels are fucking redundant
(Labels are fucking redundant)
No use, they mean nothing (Mean
I go by the name of Kel Mitchell!
And this is TeamBackPack! Let's go!
Yo, I'm so '96, back and on my grimy shit
Nigga get -whoever they'll sign me
hate the seminar
Ignorant flip, hey, miss, you must jet
Flex for the funkiest but start to bounce
Measure hip-hop for weight, by the ounce
Bush
hate the seminar
Ignorant flip, hey, miss, you must jet
Flex for the funkiest but start to bounce
Measure hip-hop for weight, by the ounce
Bush
slang shots
Hit G spots by giving hoes back shots
I'm a young country boy, long socks with flip flops
But I pull up on your block in the 500 Benz drop
Lecter, so just in case you're thinkin' of savin' face
You ain't gonna have no face to save
By the time I'm through with this place, so Drake
It may
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