Текст песни
cye These bitch ass niggas know what's up. These streets already know what's up. When I drop this shit, we going up. These rap niggas, they sick of us. Tell them labels. Make a cut, drop a check and run right out. Cause ain't nobody as hard as us. If you think I'm lying. They call my bluff. Please don't make me drop my nuts. This shit on my neck.
It's bright as f***. Please don't make me drop a bag. Cause I get you gone. Is light cs F*** too easy?
I been on the grind all day. That money always tie me up. Yo niggas on the internet with that pussy shit like they can't get Touch just Keep the peace we all can eat.
I just want the money. Fuck the fame. Real nigga to the death of me. They flipped the switch. Switch up quick. Can't get with that sucker shit. You sell a gram, they tell it now. Same nigga that you thought was down. They'll see you up there, knock you down. That's why I keep out 60 rounds. You cross me once. Come try me now. The quickest way to meet the ground. Don't call me bro, don't call me fam I'm locked in with my side of town. I left the state to chase the cake. I double back and make it shake. Can't come round now cause it's too late. You made your bed. You gotta lay I help you out. You drag my name. That shit too lame. Them niggas fake them niggas eatin I'm.
The reason they keep.
It real. Just for a season. Then fall off and get the grieving counting up. My niggas get knocked off up. Playing demon kickstand. Wiki got me leaning. That's my baby. She said she need me. She gon feed me and slurp my sleep. My niggas tight like killing Keenan. Park the Benz on wheelie. Beaming up all night with the money. Scheming I can't sleep.
Cause dreams they.
Only come to sleep. Nigga got some killers in them bushes. They gon creep with ya. Yeah bitch I need my bag like a weed re-up. Niggas talking on the net. But in the streets he bluffed I got that word that these niggas fake. It ain't got no motion. Cause these niggas hate I keep the Drake. Cause these niggas takin ain't taking no chances. See me in the maker I need my money. Not doing no way. Hustling too fast. Not doing no breaking room on the hands I'm peepin the snake thought it was beef, but I only got bacon. Keys ain't shit on.
Some paper I ain't got the paper like the counter for my meditation. Keep the identity down on beef I still get a nigga ass bacon 494 I'm a 90s baby crowd goin punk clientele. I'ma throw like the eight track, one.
Stop shop got green, got purple, got brown, got white. Slim shape I'm comin round I be segregated.
Watch the gang on pedicab. Move to the fell. Be a play around the bitch I put them in the circle with a smile. Like a mentor. He was a bullet I found he a big smile. But I ain't kidding. Bullet runner, watch the stick. Blow pay rap won't take the whole long thing.