The Lightning Above The Adriatic Sea

(J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League)

Yeah

I was just in and out of central bookings

Now it's Coachella bookings

Look where your fella took it

I know God got me, but I know that the devil lookin'

Nigga I love cross me, in my book, he forever crooked

I seen it in your eyes when you see how the presi' lookin'

Niggas was prayin' on my downfall, but I kept it pushin'

Recipe for disaster, I'm back in the kitchen cookin'

I took it where niggas couldn't (yeah)

Uh, used to go to the game with KD whenever I visit Brooklyn

Had me watchin' in the suite with Tony, my nigga, good lookin'

Told me, "Keep your foot on these niggas, don't give 'em no cushion"

Used to have the bundle in the chip bag I hid in the bushes

It's people close to me that's jealous of this position I'm put in

And expect me to bounce back after I was hit with them bullets

I don't care nothin' 'bout that, I'm livin' this shit to the fullest (yeah)

(Uh)

From the concrete grew a rose (yeah)

Mercedes concepts, two of those

Quarter-million-dollar cars, I own a few of those

Flavor Flav shit, I'm in the spot with a group of hoes

This the music equivalent to winnin' the Super Bowl

They tell me I'm too transparent, tell me I'm too exposed

I'm just makin' sure in all my verses the truth is told

(Yeah)

Uh, infinity links and infinity pools

I'm down in Philly with goons

Twenty chains on, I pity the fool

We're fleein' New York City, I'm cool

I don't give a fuck 'bout your video views

'Cause nine times out of ten, I'm still richer than you

The food be Michelin too (yeah)

I'm the Machine, but I'm missin' some screws

The streets drove my crazy with all of the shit I been through (shit, yeah)

Look, I don't want you niggas to get it confused

It's funny when you think about it, I didn't finish with school

I still own some property, own a couple businesses too

I should be applauded for all the good business I do

Makin' sure my mama and my little sisters is cool

I ain't gon' do the work for you, but I'll give you the tools

Niggas like me ain't 'posed to win, but I'm bendin' the rule

From the concrete grew a rose

Mercedes concepts, two of those

Quarter-million-dollar cars, I own a few of those

Flavor Flav shit, I'm in the spot with a group of hoes

This the music equivalent to winnin' the Super Bowl

They tell me I'm too transparent, tell me I'm too exposed

I'm just makin' sure in all my verses the truth is told (told)