Lyrics:
renegade, must stay paid
Not by financial aid, but a raid of hits
Causing me to take long trips
I'm the original teacher of this type of style
Rockin'
I met you in a club in Atlanta, Georgia
Said me and my homeboy were coming out with an album
You looked at me like, "Yeah, nigga right"
But you
my flat white, I know
Ons dra brille sonder lense, bly in open plan fats vol Ballenclo tafels en opgerolde yoga mats
Side path hairstyles en sailor
Na mój nowy album wszystko musi się zgadzać
Dzwonię do ciebie, by powiedzieć
Że nie mogę gadać piszę chore rzeczy
Musisz koniecznie je zbadać
Chcę ci
paid
Not by financial aid, but a raid of hits
Causing me to take long trips
I'm the original teacher of this type of style
Rockin' off-beat with
they're taking toll
If you've been bad, Lord, I bet you have
And you've not been hit by flying lead
You've not been hit by flying lead
You'd better
By the time you make one I'll be on ten
Hit the studio nigga, and do it again
To the beat y'all, and it don't stop
It goes on cause I don't stop
I'm livin' in Bedrock, surrounded by rubble
Just a youngin' in trouble
Took a shot and then made it a double
Took a shot and then made it a double
sees it
It's therapy season!
You want album 3? Then give me a reason!
Why should I bother stressin' again?
Why should I wake up depression again?
Won't
album's hot and your album's not
I done been getting movie deals
I done been getting paid like Vinzel
I done been by ?
And five double o's
And 1 2's
to slip into a life that's easier
An attention span whittled away for years by social media
Then COVID hit that shit like a meteor
Procrastinated every
I been going now
I think all my haters finally notice now
Just made another album prolly throw it out
Know I’ll make another, I ain’t slowing down
(Wheezy outta here)
Yeah, yeah, I'm in this bitch, yeah, I'm back
Ah, ah, I hit the club on the up, you can come with the racks (uh, come with
to be stung by a bee, that's just me
Or a wasp
Yeah, I'm being legit...
Got a clean record (you know?)
It really went from...
A joke to an album now I
I needed
I hit the road on the weekends to do a show
Ain't ask for money but they
Still gave a lil' dough
Just a bunch of wild kids in the front row
Many people had the nerve to think we would end the trend
With Criminal Minded, an album which is only ten
Funky, funky, funky, funky, funky hit
This song appears on two albums, and was first released on the One World Album. It has also been released on The Country Roads Collection album
even up my sleeve
A million albums sold and it?s hard to believe
Well it?s true homeboy, it?s not a lie
I used to sell tapes on sunnyside
I used
Little niggas want to rap and think that shit sweet
Push his first album and he died the same week
Put that water on the dirt turn that shit to mud
I
Tossing a your bitch you slip we hit now we tossing a clips
Bossing and shit next thing I'm bubling and cavi
cause if the cold world air maxs
All the dubs
breathe on
Bleed on, exceed on!
Weak rappers with titles after twelve
Hit a bell that's what I'll feed on!
Microphone Don, walking flesh, talking bomb
Tired of these rappers, tired of these jackers
I'm tired of these dances by these fuckin' backpackers
And I'm sick of all these hipsters, I'm sick
as fuck)
Midnight chills when i'm by myself (Midnight chills)
Midnight chills when i'm with the bros (With the bros)
No matter where i'm at when its night, i
this album and find zero fucking flaws
And I kinda feel like Malcolm the way I picked you off
I think we gonna get this three-peat hit the last two with
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