Don't Know [Luca Brasi 3]

Kevin GatesKevin Gates 

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Kevin Gates

Kevin Jerome Gilyard, better known by his stage name Kevin Gates, is an American rapper, singer, and entrepreneur. He is currently signed to Bread Winners' Association with a partnership with Atlantic Records. more »

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Pardon the body, wide body switchin' lanes
Difference, me and you are not the same
Keep goin', steady duckin' methods, bitch niggas steady throwin' at me
Swim through it, goin' for the cheddar
Big dog runnin' through the letters
Now I got young niggas slangin' K's, no mistake, and they know better
Now I got some sons I done raised, white t-shirts, rockin' J's
Trap house through a brick a day
I meant to say they be servin' J's
Probably do a nine day in rocks, clear tech tickin', that's a watch
Got that out the work, a cell block
Closed cell restrictions, C-C-R
Still callin' shots on the yard, I don't need a rod, I am the rod
Believe in God not a bodyguard
Tatted bad, body lotta scars
Cold heart got my body hard
Mills in the lab when I record
M's on the table, got employed
Drop somethin', perfect timin' for it

To hide my scars from the next life, most likely why I dress nice
You tell me you just burned somethin', I probably tell you, "That's nice~
Maneuver through the trenches, foreign vehicles headlights
Y'all be itchin' when thankin', many might believe it's head lice
Jump out, don't get star-struck, clique out, clip wit'cho car up
Big Gates just gave her auto, while sippin' coffee at Starbucks
Vacuum-seal it all up, resin resembles sawdust
I'm him, got many nicknames, they don't know what to call us

Transforms speak less, yeah
Big drugs, we that, yeah
I bought a loft to chill, she couldn't stay 'cause her pussy was ill
Hit from the back, throw it back, I'm like, "Eeh!"
Pull her hair, wrap it up in my wrist
Get wit' me, got some money to get
Private driver keep the wheel in the road
X-ray machine trippin' the load
Magnetics, speed thermometer slow
Out in Illinois grabbin' 'em whole
On the block, caught a trick for a pole
On your lap, I could hit you wit' dough
On your cap, you get hit for a O
Big bread, holdin' shop in the snow
In the back, catchin' that at the store
Send money to my niggas for soap
On land, I'm a blessin' with clothes
Pray to God business never exposed
Everybody livin' under the code
Real player, I ain't tryna get chose
Many call, few only get those
Live raw, tryna soak in your nose
Mugged up, kinda show 'em my goals

To hide my scars from the next life, most likely why I dress nice
You tell me you just burned somethin', I probably tell you, 'that's nice'
Maneuver through the trenches, foreign vehicles, headlights
Y'all be itchin' when thankin', many might believe it's head lice
Jump out, don't get star-struck, clique out, clip wit'cho car up
Big Gates just gave her auto, while sippin' coffee at Starbucks
Vacuum-seal it all up, resin resembles sawdust
I'm him, got many nicknames, they don't know what to call us

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