Lyrics:
might cry a river
Murder one, she can't believe she raised that type of nigga
I tried to do right, but it only got your boy fucked in the game
So I
a bitch
Get some bread
Baker baker man
3 be real ain't fakah man
My ascension
To the 5th dimension
Can't be halted
By yo inquisitions
I got three eyes
Rashford but that's low value like Bradford
Burn my bridge like Adam in Eden, Hazard, Stamford
You and I can't play both sides gotta finish this course like
Firmin, just a brief reminder
My salary has not been paid
Send it care of the ghost by return of post
P.T.O.: no one likes a debtor
So it's better if my
employ
I shoot 12 rounds, now Jr. Jones Roy
Y'all so backwards, I don't do Backwoods, I'm a swisher man
8 in the mornin' you bouta get found by
Like man Juju Bop when I walk in (huh?)
That we saw some spill
Gyal give me two two top with no talking (no talking)
Like of course she will
Only
it'll be alright
(Dom do ah) Pour me out another phone
(Dom do ah) I'll ring and see if your friends are home
Perhaps the strange ones in the dome
Can
numbers (uh huh)
Seven shots tear the roof off you gold Hummer (yeah)
My shit drop it's gon do Hooty numbers
Blow Fish I'm gonna be hotter
Let go of my string you hold tight
So I can get out of sight
I'm gonna lose all of my trust again so Me, Myself, and I will always stay by my side,
Yuh
Stay with me
Let me show you what I dreamed
We can be anything you want to be
(What do you wanna be)
I can be everything that you want
(Everything
wont u get out an vote
honestly hate is yah true Virtue
And it's nuffin yah could do to make this living hell great
One thing to improve would b by
(Who? you! Who? you!
Sweet adorable you!)
Who is the one, I couldn't do without
An' who is the one, I always think about?
In every little
fuckin' around
2 eyes to the sky, 10 toes touchin the ground
Bitch nigga I am not your homeboy
We are not from the same home boy
My Nina Baker bring your
his eyes when I hear him sayin' please
Who loves you baby?
I do, I do trust you
See see this ain't just bout having sex
I don't even have
excess
To try and get
Some balance
By handling some liquor
Once again
23
I’m 23
Soon to be 24
And not a single dream
Of mine a reality
Well shit,
Jersey
Now we can do this a couple of different ways, it really depends
Could give them classic NY jeans over the Timbs
Or I could spit about my car
Y'all so backwards, I don't do Backwoods
I'm a swisher man 8 in the mornin' you bouta
Get found by a fisherman
Yeaa, You guys is bitches, little girls
the kitchen they call me the baker
May the field see all of my rangers
Cherokee Bill muffucka see danger yea
I give her somethin to pray for
Dream of them days
me function like McLovin/
The bread is in the oven and I got a baker's dozen/
Southern California livin' where they dumpin' out in public/
No punk
to a higher force then I'll stomp your corpse
It's the Bronx of course, recognize the accent
One of the last livin' still-in-action general assassins
the last)
When I do it on my own, it's double pay
But I gotta go harder everyday (In every way)
Work work work (Yeah)
Always by my 'lone putting in work work
Yeah, your lovely photo at the OT ball
Wait, why would I go I don't do that at all
Yeah, I know nothing about anatomy
Aye, or population health
She do doughnuts in my head, over and over and over
'Til the cops pull her over
And then she say some real slick shit like
"I'm on my way by Weezy
and oranges
Cornering neatly she trips up sweetly
To meet the people
She's on time again
And then
I catch her by the eye
Then I stop and have to think
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