Lyrics:
lucky, my God! Flight of Icarus in those grubby dirty by now horribly sticky little fingers and
hands and grubby palms, and oh what else is grubby, I don't
Pull up with a 2 by 2
I don't think you know my woes
Gotta watch out for my Bros
Lotta Serpents on the Road
Racks on racks
The paperchase don't end
round
Let me slow it down
Smoking on Os of that reefa
Shooting for goals like Fifa
Oh that's my dough my pita
Turn that boy into pizza
Grown man
the car lot, got a new toy (skrrt)
I got a backpack full of blue boys (stacks)
On the way to Eliantte in New York (ice)
Man, I got a trunk full of blue
to just stroll the park with this Chaka
Baby girl was just diggin' all in my pockets (all in my pockets)
I was going hard (by the magic hour)
We were
to me
You wanna get in? Put a sucker's head out
Sound a little hot for you, boy? Then, toy, get out
Syndicate mob ain't nothin but hardened crooks
You
the lessons that you taught me
Money couldn't play the part of making me the man you did
But maybe its gon feel better flying to my posie in a choppa In
Too many wannabe badboys flexin' like they're so rowdy
Look a badboy straight in the face, tell him I'm a real bad boy, fuck Mike Lowery
I don't
a lot of practice on black boys' jimmys and white boy's cactus.
Sorry, sorry, sorry, but I gotta be brief:
A lotta niggas like bustin' nuts in her teeth.
hated by All
Hated by all And it's kinda unclear to me
You see the way I'm rappin what im packin in these lucky jeans
This white boy look
Ima laughing
a whole lotta knowing how to rap, no cap
I'm young free and happy
That's a God-given combo I might just
Move to a condo in a city I've never heard of
Open
Ween never scared
Who care bout all what they said
We litty in it yea
Money paper bag yea
We call that monkey bread
Lull mama got that back yea
She throw
whips, it's a little different
Then what they in vision being me these days
It's hard to stay the same I remain real for those that feel the pain
You can
Poppin out like a hoe in the alleyway
Charged up like I'm hooked to a battery
Middle finger to the ones that would laugh at me
Little homie poppin' out
on a Harley,yeah
And by Harley, I mean Davidson
Feel like Steph Curry at Davidson
Boy I'm feeling like the weatherman, and I'm popping like a hundred xans
In
Craig closed the cabinet
Better tell that little boy lay low
Today his judgment day , I'm trying to give his ass a halo
Got all types of pipes by the case
willing fo sho dealing get dope feelings when I'm in my bag
Lame-ass-niggas going out sad little bitch
Silence gone kill that mufucka in the end dawg is
just enough room to cram the drums
In the corner over by the dodge
It was a fifty-four
With a mashed up door
And a cheesy little amp
With a sign
needs an introduction
See that body moving like its own percussion
Shake a little faster make a man concussive
c little that a little something some.
swear that they gave you life
Shoulda left your ass in the pen'
Please can we get back Craig Sager?
Leave your ass at the rim
Three feet, no pressure,
like seven days so I can taste it, taste it
And she asking, "Can you fill me in to Craig David?"
I was surprised she sucked me so good with that braces
of Taylor
I'mma pull Drake and want this shit forever, man
She was in my web class sophomore year
College girls a little less judgy I hear
But she was
That's the pay for a steel driver on this line"
Then the section foreman said, "Hey, hammer swinger
I see you brought your own hammer boy
But what else
you should toy with
So don't come in my face with that motherfucking boy shit
Never coming soft with that 'love, peace and joy' shit
Mr., Mr.
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