Lyrics:
your roots
Of where you coming from by teaching your youths
You gotta wake them up don’t let them sleep up on you
Even if you're mad tired, see I plan
Tijuana
Christmas in Botswana
Tiz Christmas, tiz Christmas, tiz Christmas again (Here we go)
Listen up little adolescents (Santa?)
Don't listen to your
far from the binoculars
So, that smart money finna get that heat out the car
Yo, I'm K-Dot Lamar meets 2Pac Shakur
I got profiled by a few cops, too
Don't you fiddle it son, make it feel good, yeah
Play T.J. - from Chicago
Well, just treat your man right, woman
Day by day-ay
And get out your
Tell just by my red eyes ain't just city kids that get fly we the outskirts of the empire
Grew up around white trash, where I'm from, everybody likes
blessed to get a second chance at life by his hands
So me faking till I make it wasn't ever the plan
So just pour me out a blessing why I'm stressing on my
weakened by loved ones
Wishing my mama never found her husband
Wishing my dada never knew women or got to spouse one
Antinatalism eating up my existentialism
the bucks to, John be Kimble with the hazards
Beat your ass at shoots and ladders, gas you up til boots get fatter
Trigger-happy with war crimes, Patton
(yeah)
I Spinks on a ho like Leon
And you are just a castaway, so get your ass away
Instead of fuckin you, I'd masturbate
I shouldn't of had to wait, I
I got Demons on my ass and I'm tryna get them off my back
I open up the Bible, speak them scriptures That's my mass attack
Since my daddy left
We ain’t ashamed to lift Him high
Everywhere we go we lift Him high
Just saying what’s up
When praises go up
Those blessings fall down down
Higher
that ya probably missed it
And yet it's so loud that it stands in the crowd
When the guy takes the beat, they bowed
So raise up squire, address your
the blessings that define, Life
Finer things, blind
Open up your mind, you're going to be fine
Zoom out, tune out, leave it all behind
We were doomed from
mine get your own bag
A sack full of OG under lock and key
None for the homies this is all for me
Got a blunt looking like a Kelly palm tree
Police
the processional
By Any Means, track 8
Ok, here we go!
Wait, you didn't get the memo? Didn't hear it?
This whole verse I've been talking to your spirit
A little too
the processional
By Any Means, track 8
Ok, here we go!
Wait, you didn't get the memo? Didn't hear it?
This whole verse I've been talking to your spirit
A little too
and I'm stacking my benjamins
Praying to God for my blessings, I'm heavensent
Eyes on the bag and I pray that I get to it
Right on my hip in the jeans
one
One, two, three
One, have faith, know you believe
Two, you need to pray, down on your knees
Three, you received, praise him for the blessings you
a virtual adaption
You niggas dead look like
They should have worked on the graphics
You cannot get me with that shit
When i can imagine
More pixels in my
barracudas
Thank God I'm a sharpshooter
Your heart get a harpoon
Shit, your arm get a scar too for the fuck of it
Imma shoot with my eyes closed
Barely
put the P on that hat
You get hit with the Eagle, roll a Philly to that
Now tell the world how you got your bitch
You FaceTimed Nicki while Safaree
make monster beats
I do a show and left your
Block looking like Contra streets
Oh, turn the volume up
You still talking that Mass & volume stuff
It
to rap but what you're making ain't hip-hop, B
Now, get your clothes right out the dryer
Put Armor-All up on your tire
Sport that fresh attire
all
It's time to call a world order where every girl's your daughter
And priceless as ices and pearls fresh out the water
I'm gonna get mine, either
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