Lyrics:
me to go and air it out
This is big boy rap you’re still living at your parents house
I be on the go they rarely know about my whereabouts
I’m trying
watch it bust like a cantaloupe
I can't stand a rope, so don't try to hang 'em
Talk about dogs boy, I can slang 'em!
Rat-a-tat-tat on your noggin
Then them niggas start coughing
Age 23 I still act like im bossin
No capping just Raps
I put boys inna coffin
My shit surely slaps
If you lissenin often
can't tell you how I got 'em, in
Hold on, check my fucking safe
50 xans, 50 bags in, 50 bags of kush in
Change the beat up, we can go some more!
My
They call me Young Gudda,
I'm all about the doe still,
And anybody in my way, Roadkill,
Everything my hands touch turn to gold,
Money, Knots
They call me Young Gudda
I'm all about the doe still
And anybody in my way, Roadkill
Everything my hands touch turn to gold
Money, Knots and Jewels
100
Just cause we moved on up
People still on scope for a steal
200
So imma tell you how it is den imma tell u how i feel
Tell em then
Loyalty over
out before I get to third base
But still they see me coming I lash in your face
I guess I'm getting foul again
Pure waste and the flows pants are my
took the harder way (I took the harder way) (yeah, tell 'em)
12 pulled me over, caught me with the dope, they took my hard away (they took my hard away)
Like, la-di-da-di, who got the keys to my Audi?
Last time I said it, went viral, I don't fuck with nobody
And I don't fuck with you, you, them, her
on roof,
Even once had a job pourin tar up on da roof.
Dat boy had it hard, no fasad it's da truth,
So now when I menage and get massaged it's da proof.
whatever
I'll pop on a bitch if she take it too far
Fuck whoever, that was way before, now this shit ours
We up on these bitches and turnt up
Tell 'em
show ya how to pop yo shit..Yea Yea.,I'm goin upGot em sick they throwin up,cuz they know I'm blowing upDrop da lo for da opps they ain't even showin
y'all be slipping
While I'm dripping
In my threads from the Gap
(Aye)
I'm just riding
Hey Lukey
Buddy boy
How are you?
Hey, your mom shared your new album
knew the boy done had any brain
Cause he always jokin thought we had’a be same’ auto tuned no T-Pain’
Type’da be snorin’
Always had imagined never
league
You D-league, boy you terrible
Like delinquents, so sorry peeping' tom
Yo ya'll some hot tamales But I'ma need to see some
ID's before I let you
some ID's
Before I let you hotties in this party
They never paid me my fees
So they gon' pay me in D's
L's they gon' fail
When I throw em in jail
Gone be
in Hollywood cause I remember when I had 50 Cent, up In Da Club
All my life I knew I was major, I don't need no major
I don't even write rhymes, I
I'm About to Hit Em Where It Hurts,
Album boutta Drop Like uh hearse,
Homie you can tell by the verses
I ain't ever Lie finna purchase
Whips
up
After the stage show
And Carnival goers still haunted
By Kelso Cochrane's ghost
Power to his picture taunts us ever after
So many questions never
we've come a long way (look)
Uh (REAS')
Niggas want my old shit (ooh), buy my old album (yeah)
And tell your favorite rappers, "Come see me and peep
I'm straight the illest
Feel like you getting stomped and punched by eight gorillas
Me and Cimer came back wit da rawest shit
Think diff you must got it
to the heaven I'm so dope its
A weapon raps one big casino I'm plottin ocean eleven aye I might have sold the least but I still
Manage to most feared by most
here
I wanna tell the world they just don't understand
My man Nas Escobar, Wu-Tang Clan
Keith Murray to the Redman, down south Da Brat
My people are
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