Lyrics:
it's at wit you niggas where it ain't
You love yo hoe that much get her out my face
Played my cards right now I only deals wit jacks
Gotta call from
Walking through the rain with a raincoat
I'm from the city where the good niggas die young
Ain't no love in my city, ain't gonna love my city
I just wanna
talented
They be fuckin with mo' MC's at Jack the Rapper)
(Aight fuck it, what you say Mall?
Ay, fuck them sheisty ass bootches, nigga)
The California
this like Bonnie & Clyde and get that cheese
Ride side by side and watch these mothafuckaz die
And I hope you fall in love, with me
And I hope you fall
only left over scraps, by hungry niggas wit large hustle
So many reps with the bars I call my American car, muscle
I still get thru it when the road is
stray innocent souls
To live you take life, and you get by with coldness inside
Lost in your world, you survived with no way back
They don't
and snortin'
whodi don't give a fuck, 'cause they dealer got em gone
bout that foolishness, and gon' jack somethin' with they jones
they remind me of me, old
Jack Jones
Really wanna see me, when i'm on my lone
When I am with you, I get in the zone
My baby she calling up my phone (Phone yeah)
Can you tell me
gig
Overqualified by the rent sticks
Red brick bash with a texted green screen
Like, "I entered my data right into your screen"
[Mr. Lif]
Jane went
from here?
No, ah.. which one is it?
(burp) excuse me. It's the one by the airport... you know... cause we gotta get up early an'.. fly outta here in
God Hates Gucci
And
He don't wear Louie
Don't love guns
Guess who yours truly
Young Tim Duncan
With a bun in the oven
Jimmy and Chrissy
We was kissin
Havana Syndrome
God Hates Gucci
And
He don't wear Louie
Don't love guns
Guess who yours truly
Young Tim Duncan
With a bun in the oven
Jimmy
really from the town
I'm Carey stacks and The jack, Bitch, We got the same sound
I'm 2 French with the rage, Ill knock a nigga down
I'm 2oopaid with
more perspective mess
Quest fighting Midwestside over a single
All the way from the love angel to Chris Cringle
CEO of Midwestside fighting QD over my
From the base motherland
The place of the drum
Invaded by the wack diddie wack
Fooled the black, left us faded
King and chief probably had a big beef
gone
Tearing down the 'jects creating plush homes
My circumstance is between Cabrini and Love Jones
Surrounded by hate, yet I love home
Ask my God
To be devoured by his thirst
For a great Russian empire again
China, Russia, Turkey
love the way you make them look
Suddenly they’re not the only ones
Fear what you don't understand
And you will become ignorant
I love rappin killin shit
That's all I plan to do with it
I let y'all talk numbers
They
Might be your moms and pops, your uncles
Your grandparents or maybe your friends
But me
I leaned my game from them love songs
Them oldies and them love
leave from by your side
The one you gotta trust when things look bad
You know you got the one with the whole hoods mad
You need a rider, need a slider
clear the room
Boom
Gotta flame tops
Lohan
Cotton circulating from the same crop
I'm in a field of my thoughts
This feeling ain't lost
Jack Shepherd
decreased
Came in the game with no chain or receipt
Now we sit at the banquet, we're ready to feast
You have all been deceived by the greed of the weak
We
we soar
Never drawn in by allure, no
I ain't really fucking with your sort
Mind clear staying in the fort
Nike brand short no couture
I really came
don't know the whole fire
In the dark, shoot sparks like rim with no tire
I don't deal with the lames, I'd much rather blow by ya
They known to spit
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