Lyrics:
Huh? Huh?
Huh? Ha!
Young nigga jookin' on the back block
(Back block)
In the kitchen whippin' 'til my hands hurt
(Hands hurt)
Foreign door, push got
You gotta be ready in the land of the trill
Cause if them jackers catch ya slipping
lil' man it's for real
Second thing dog
When your hands
thinking upward in my cranium
Heavy Metal in my veins it runs
Liquid gold with cold uranium
I can power up a UFO and
I won't lose control
I hold my weight in
do it in style,
Or take your ass on back down to 8 mile,
Now my life is flashin before my eyes,
And the bullets is flyin across the skies,
They got my
Life is full of glee with someone to saw, someone to see
Life's a happy song when there's someone by my side to sing along
I've got everything that I
how much attention you pay
You better be ready to die, in this game
I thought I told y'all
I'm done with the beef, clown, my son three now
And I've
all eloquent, leather shit in my front yard
Tv by my swimming pool, got it built like a sports bar
Chevelle with a new motor, got the bitch like
more, we gettin' to it (ha)
Can't put it in the hands of fate, this how we do it (ha)
Now let me go and get with all of my people, you know I have
more, we gettin' to it (ha)
Can't put it in the hands of fate, this how we do it (ha)
Now let me go and get with all of my people, you know I have
Holes wit' tampons, i'm serious
I've been plugged in like a landline
And I throw up my hands you
Just throwin' up hand signs
When the hand 9 by the Jimmy
worship with Allah
So plot against me, all of you, and give me no respite
I put my trust in Allah, my Lord and your Lord
There is not a moving living
drawing doodles
You was on google, learning gang signs
I be, 5-40, let that bang
Got that flag in my pocket, i let it hang
Your bitch down in front of me,
show, tryna grab a bitch off the runway
I ain't even pack no clothes, nothin' but rubbers in my suitcase
Laid her on the mic, menage with my model
written in my file
Said you loved me but it is what it is in this life
You ain't ever gon get what you give
I had to learn that the hard way as a troubling
Clicky Clang Clicky Clang
The money goes into my piggy bank
Clicky yo shout out Lloyd Banks
This is New York Bitch
I could ask you? Rap until your
Ralph Lauren, Lacoste, Lyle and Scott
I'm nineteen with more grades than my Dad's got
And your girl's still trying to watch.
Well I guess my face
the real
Is in the building
With Jay and Hova niggas know
What the deal is
The deal is nigga the realest
Young Scott the rock
Rocking from the Phyllis
Got my
don't clown, the got love for my sound
They want to see a party go down
With a cigarette burning past the filter, degrees
In the club hot mic feeds,
turned to Scott
Chose to jump off his mama porch leading the stampede of lost souls
In the middle of their metamorphosis, not quite through with their
pouring
T. Scott ain't never snoring
Light my blunt, and take a puff, see the sun come up in the morning
It's raining it's pouring
T. Scott ain't never
the 'yes man'
I'm in my polo Tee, Gucci sweat pants
She on a Jubilee call me the X-man
Pa-pa-pass me the dutch with cha left hand
I got the whole club
discomfort in this area.
This practice is easy and pleasant. It helps me enjoy life.
Little by little, shift your attention to the area of your kidneys.
Go
time that they finally get a taste of
What we face everyday (everyday)
The fear of walkin' round with the police in your way
Now you scared of a couple
don't even come on
You're far from home so leave it alone
You creeping with the king of the throne
You sleeping in a tee and a thong
With your hair in
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