Letras
Across the tracks
Where we at?
What else? (Choo, choo)
Yeah
227
(Conductor)
ConCreatures
Yeah
Let's get it
Trainwreck, pale face with the plain set, Day and Date but the bezel fluid
My bitch hit my line, bitches all in the background of the stu', I don't ever mute it
Told Wop I think I'm finna close shop, in this street shit I'm heavy-rooted
This that stove god sweating over the stove top, blue flame under the kettle music
Back when four hours was a long flight, took a cold shower, it was no lights
All them long hours and them cold nights got my wrist flickin' like a strobe light
Nigga couldn't even get the wheels started, paint his frame, I'm a real artist
All my life I've been a drill sergeant, tryna oversaturate the pill market
Caught a 630, Auntie Nadine, like I'm Big Percy selling ice cream
Like a McFlurry and some pralines, know my whip dirty but the place clean
Only reason I trap because the only thing promised to me was the state being
Hatin' on me, you need to relax, only reason I rap 'cause I can't sing
Just ranned off with a eighteen, heard he put that money on my head like a Beijing
My bitch hate that I'm too nonchalant, brand new Saint Laurent, came from selling fake jeans
In the trenches I'm waist-deep, fully AP, switcheroo on my belt buckle
Thirty-clip on my new nine, used it a few times, it left a bruise on my left knuckle
(Let's get it)
I love when she role play, poppin' her shit like some rose
She tell me we soulmates, I damn near believe everything that this ho say
How she all about me do-re, Ginuwine cane sugar, no Solé
When she be like, "You got this shit sewed up and knitted," I don't even know how to crochet
Whip the 28 and get a full tray, nigga damn near spent the whole day
East, west, running back and forth tryna run his money up the long way
Stepped on it like a bunion, had a run-ion for the money-ion
Sold more circles than some Funyuns, all eyes on me through the toe-aways
Only built for my Cubanos, thinking out loud like, "What would my stove say?"
It'd probably would say that, "Them some nice kicks, they look like Skechers but they Dolce"
Spin the work up like a merry-go, titties on the fully, no areola
The paint on the two-seater lookin' like I spilt a two-liter of cherry cola
All these all-nighters gave me vertigo, out here servin' blow on the river with Percival
All praise to the merciful, choppin' the mozzy but with the shotty I get surgical
Always business, never personal, the whip foreign, call it Turkaloo
You want a bag? Bitch, I'll Birkin you, seen a big dollar off of a curgical
Mr. Pink runs with the snowballs, re-up money lookin' like it's snowfall
From Forest to Whittier, me and Forrest Whittaker'll pull up in that ghost dog
Double Rs in the headrest, motherfuck yourself but bitch, I'm Brick James
Supercharge on all the Range Rovers, big Bs on that big thing
Football seats pig skin, paid my dues, put my bid in
Sippin' mud with the pig pens, in the club snuck the strig in
Yeah