Lyrics:
We on
Free land
Free land
Free land
Free land
Took every path I could wander
And figures, quarters and commas
Not what I need in the fountain
When
sales, real better quarter brick
I got nick sales, brick sales and you ain't seen a quarter yet
I'm a trap nigga, I'ma run through everything I order
recording
Rob ya mother just to feed my daughter
I was burning bags before I seen a quarter
I am not the one, they saying we extorted
Fuck her send her
want, tell me what you need
Baby, hold me down
When I was fucked up, wouldn't help me out
Quarter million dollar trucks, half a million dollar house
got the drop, I know where all my opps be playin' poker
My section full of rich-head junkies who hate bein' sober (sober)
It's Gucci (go)
One, two,
(Section 8 just straight cooked
This motherfucker up)
I was on the utter when
I slowed down because it's more to come
Nigga was talking down, but
In a quarter of a mile, take a left on Crip Street
Good God, jam
Ain't nothin' funny (fall back)
Never put no smut up on my name (this is a hold
on you to test this
Got these diamonds on me up in every section
Every nigga 'round me really with the steppin'
Got a bitch look like Keisha, I call her
stamps
Section eight, me and Ma lived in the trap
I said fuck school, it holdin' me back
I wanna bankroll, chasin' after that
(Paperwork) Don't do no
would have chalk around
Yellow tape, never hesitate
2 Chainz derived from Section 8
Meditate, that's my stress relief
I've been stylin' on 'em, since
pores
These niggas ride like volvos, and we ain't talkin bout these whores
Give a section of the beach, nigga surfers gotta swim ashore
If you need more,
me?
I be out in LA wit' my connection
Bottles of Belair, hoes in my section
I won't lighten up on these niggas
'Cause niggas ain't nice enough for
her lecture
But I swerve the questions, and reserve a section
With a bunch a bitches that prefer to pleasure
It's quarter to 7, I just heard
my section
Chrome out the Rollie, this shit is a blessing (whoa)
Chrome Heart over the machete
Hand on your block like I fed it
Whip up
This shit is not a fuckin game
Chorus 2X
Pac man, y'all niggas know my name
It'll take a quarter key to survive in my game
They call me Pac man,
I get you fuckers locked up for a quarter key
I told you motherfuckers not to fuck with me
Mike WiLL Made It
Gucci Mane, and I'm a one man band
girl I murder that a**
Don't be all in my section if you ain't talkin' 'bout f***in'
We ain't talkin' 'bout f***in' then we ain't talkin' bout nothin'
baby
It ain't a time the suckers died and we ain't celebrated
We'll have 'em section off your section like it's segregated
Ayy, heavy doses when
Aint smoking Right
Flip a Quarter Pound
This the Sound of that
Hustle life, But make
Sho' you Hustle Right
This shit ain't no
Trap music, nigga this
That
and set the brain reeling the inverse and perverse
Objections suffice apelike and tactile bassoon oboeing me cordon the
Virus' section off to
The left
and tactile bassoon oboeing me cordon the virus' section off to the left is what is not right
Right Voice (Reed, Yule)
English arcane tantamount here
'm the one dance floor at the station
??? time around quarter to ten
times work hard
the customers scarred
your tickets to freedom
yo you ain't
would have chalk around
Yellow tape, never hesitate
2 Chainz derived from Section 8
Meditate, that's my stress relief
I've been stylin' on 'em, since
girl I murder that a**
Don't be all in my section if you ain't talkin' 'bout f***in'
We ain't talkin' 'bout f***in' then we ain't talkin' bout nothin'
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