I Don't Know Feat Aspk & Fleetwood

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The Recipe

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I guess I'm I guess I'm I guess I'm I guess I'm I guess I'm I guess I'm I guess I'm I guess I'm I
I guess I'm I
Everything I spit, it be like money, man
Make it so much, you should call me money man

And why everybody wanna profit off me
What the f**k y'all thought the recipe was free
Them days is over with
I need some microphone if you want me to spit

Blood on gorilla, Skrilla
Control destinies around me
How the f**k you think I got the name Recipe
Then ran a few more streets with them JT's

And them Messi's
But I'm underrated, traveled
A rocky road, the greatest story not told
I got your attention, so let's watch it unfold

I guess I f**kin' fuse an indie or a major
Got a new album all day, get you some of this recipe flavor
Off top, 15 beat a beat
Knocked off half if you bring the new TC

I guess I'm I guess I'm I guess I'm I guess I'm I
My mind blank, I don't know what to think
Gas in my tanks, f**kin' loud with a blunt full of dink
Thoughts come and go like b*****s and bros

Friends and foes, you never know who they are
Until they steppin' on toes, grippin' that rope
You lose trust, you lose hope
But I guess that's the way it goes sometimes, who knows

These days just ain't the same
Through time, the money, the f**k
From dark to sunny, the highs, the lows
A lost and changed, it's strange how the future arranged

Keep up the pace, stay in your lane
Maintain the struggle, the pain embedded in your brain
Everything turned out to be the same
What changed? Humanity's insane

You can't believe most of them is tame
No equal exchange, the people, the names
The vision through the people, the dreams
But you thought this was a game

Gangsta rapper raised me in a home of independents
That's four n****s had a budget, and they didn't know how to spend them
Four cases was pending, and we prayed the violence ceased
That's that West Coast country boy from them Bay Area streets

That's my hitman, Sleegram, and Killer Keese
Kool Nut, Johnny Cash, Pac, y'all please rest in peace
The industry owe us, let me get that back pay
So I can start a foundation for Mr. C. and Mack Drake

The best form of a compliment, it come in imitation
Now everybody know they sold, our style crossed the nation
We laced up by them pimps, players, and them hustlers
Feel on stem, rubber ham, Mac Miller's the headbusters

We never did love her, taught the spotter undercover
The part we cut from is where bosses come from
We just lost another one just before the sun dropped
They ain't coming no way, don't nobody call no cops

The place called the bay, I pray the youngins get old
Pop taught me the code, way back on Harbor Road
Turn back the hands of time, and I was sure of that
Man, they keep on asking me, can the bay come back

Can the bay come back
Just don't move, just don't move

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