Lyrics:
crazy
I bet he won't make it home
Bitch I'm all about my cheese
But Ian talking provolone
Bitch it's walk down gang
Ain't no drive by
Bullets come in
earth packed hard and by one wall a raised platform
Some six foot by four covered by a simple sheet, the bed
The hunchback busied herself with small
fuck nigga
Huh
I done caught a case again, forgive me one last time
Saweetie picked Quavo over me, she made me cry
Better be in bed by the time
was the man back then
I was Dion lil bro I had some fans back then
Ain't it funny how we stumble on the past for a laugh
See the humor but overlook how
birthed me, all I write in this song
Sonny Hustle Gang, got us hyper
Mike introduced me to the gang that changed my life up
Lil Roddy, Man Man, Dion, we
Tel Aviv. Now this happened because I had brought some small stage bombs to Israel as props for this performance and the Israeli promoter was very
sound stupid, you sound childish
I might pull up in that classic 1965 low mileage
Slimane should be my stylist, mixin' new Celine with Palace
Drink
good waiting by the window
It's no good waiting for the sun
Please believe me, the things you dream of
They don't fall in the laps of no one
bankroll while my bro hit em' with like cinco
Came a long way from that small child that was brought up by the Winco
Came a long way from that small child
Turned 18 in a holdin' cell
I been dodgin' time like The Matrix
Broke the rules and got by like the Patriots
Gas fumes, you got high off the fragrance
I've seen
What I seen, what I seen, What I seen
In the days when I was young and I was free
Maybe you will see that small piece of me
From the days when
understood
These niggas be odd fake and they Flodge
Work I put in they can't sabotage
We gone do better by any means
Use to wear ecko and ripped jeans
Now all
the little hoes got ill
So now it's time to get way to real
I know they never had some real dick
They need to quit talking that childish shit
You wanna rank
hold in the 1950’s when we were already entranced by baseball, bikinis and the boob tube. We invented manned flight, atom bombs, and duct tape before we
I was born with a shotgun in my hand
I was raised up by a redneck old man
Country living small town raised
I was born I was born in the usa
I was
should know
Is with every closed door
Is a small window
Some people gotta door
And no peephole
Some can't see the door
Cus the door see through
But
You niggas just watching the gang
Y'all just some spectators
I'm so used to winning my nigga
Now expect paper
Pull up in the foreign with the black
Yuh
Fit all white bitch I look so pristine
Her pussy bald I call her mrs.clean
My bitch so elegant draped in Celine
Nut on her 4head
She gimme head
of licorice
He scared, now his drawers got some piss in it
His body get found by the fisherman
Tie you up, water board your ass, then I speed off
Shawty got
all the thoughts in your head
You know some thoughts are better left unsaid it's really unpleasant
When you're filled with lead
Oh by the way, I like
said shit would be simple, get rich and stay out the trenches, Lincoln Continental
Remember back to get by applyin' fundamental
In these streets you
Way to high
I'm up to something
I can barely even function
Whats he on
Like 50 fuckin'
Small white pills
And a mystery substance
This that shit that
lil' shorty, she alive by grace
I been drivin' this bitch too fast, like I got chased
Plugged in with the new teller at my bank
I tried to try me some
on tour
Off a bean
Or off the lean, In Celine
With bad b's, in the scene
I feel SPRME
Hold up, listen, picture this
Wake up, got to cop some drip
Got
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