Time Killers

Yeah (yeah) Yeah (whoa) Yeah Huh Yeah (All that cappin' ass shit) (Don't wanna hear none of that shit) yeah We don't wanna hear that shit no more On God (yeah) Uh (yeah), yeah Wake up, I'm on the night shift, don't do me wrong Pull up, I need my sidekick, come get me on On, on, turn me on Slow down, follow the process, I'm in the zone One umbrella, two pairs come, you play your roles Euros, really I'm out here, I'm in the pros Black man made it the hard way, he think he Hov So mad looking at my shit, it could be yours 911 fuck up black folk, I got the Porsche Two-time felon, behind the gates, it's a resort Gotta watch for these devils that steal your shit and get control (yeah) Careful on that road, dumb lil' nigga getting low on what he owe While I'm doing what he don't, until then free the locs Another rapper turn joke (joke) Another so-so (uh, damn, homie) Nigga, please let it go, uh (let it go) God bless the dead, move from the past, hmm (ay, yeah) Nine million, all cash, hmm (ay, huh) It's like my overtime flash (ballin') Fuck 'til she satisfied, yes Break it off the side Hate y'all-, no secret, I'm on the road They played y'all-, not with us, do what you told Money do cartwheels, backflipped in gold I don't take advice from niggas with no hoes Nigga, you talk so much, you's the ho I live rent-free, boy, y'all controlled I need four commas (money, fuck zeroes) Oh, oh-oh-oh-oh (suu) Wake up, hop out the phone booth, I'm on the way Grew up on Figueroa Street, I saw the play Lil' ol' scrawny nigga, for sure was catching fades Raised by all women and still I never caved Took it three times, extended from greatness, I display Home of the brave, ran by the slaves Stole everybody name so white Jesus on the chain I feel proud when it hangs Try to hide from the fame and still came with a bang I'm a Figg nigga, turned a black cloud to a flame I'm a big willy, stomach full, mouth full of paint It was God-given, lil' nigga took it too far I'm a lone star, street-smart and I'm book-smart That's the dope part Uh, yeah, look at my report card Boy, was supposed to hit the four yard A man supposed to have scars (ayy) Nigga, it ain't that hard When I'm groovin' in the NASCAR to Hoover Street, I'm Mozart Boy livin' on a postcard Smooth steerin' for the hard R, fuck y'all (my nigga) Yeah They thought I was crazy (doot-doot) they said I was cra- (yeah, doot-doot) They thought I was crazy (yeah, doot-doot)