Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 1Train, artist - A$AP Rocky. Date of issue: 10.01.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
1Train |
| Feelin’like a vigilante or a missionary |
| Tell my A$AP killers get they pistols ready |
| Send em to the cemetery with obituaries |
| Don’t be scared, nigga, is you ready? |
| I been thinkin’bout, all the Os in my bank account |
| Extra Os in my bed, round the same amount |
| Ever since this new star fame came about |
| Or, even since me and Drizzy started hangin’out |
| Young boy, let his gun bang, let his nuts hang |
| Transitioned to a Lamborghini from a Mustang |
| Drug slang, in the drug game, with the hustling |
| (I know one thing) |
| Anything is better than that 1 Train |
| Bag made at Goyard, cheffing like I’m Boyar Dee |
| Probably sellin’D and in your local courtyard |
| Braids like I’m O-Dog, a la familia: go hard, |
| Down to my in-laws, they outlaws with no law |
| We outlaw, then I bogart, any bozack, I approach that |
| When a toe-tag get broke off in the projects with a skateboard |
| I roll past and I blaze y’all like DOOT! |
| DOOT! |
| I hate y’all |
| When the beef cooked, I ate y’all, like MMM MMM let’s play ball |
| In a ball park with all sharks and a blindfold I rob cold |
| My K hot, your nine cold, it bark like canines, throwin' |
| That banana clip, straight from the rip |
| I’ll make that shirt stay ripped, I’m on some shit |
| If I’m not the hottest then Hell must’ve froze over |
| You thought it was safe then forgot what the code was |
| I carry traits of a traumatized soldier |
| Don’t look in my face, I might snap, I might choke ya Spine right out of place, give me dap like you supposed ta Rocks at your posters |
| Drop nice like this, I metamorph like I’m supposed ta I might slice my wrists or pretend like a vulture |
| And jump off this cliff |
| Barely even conscious, talkin’to my conscience |
| Gettin’deeper and these flows like conches |
| I’m on my convict, don’t drop bars, I drop prisons |
| Don’t sell rocks! |
| Seen the spectrum through the prisms |
| Somehow bypassed the bias in the |
| The violence and the killings, so give in They see my pigment, and yo that was the ign’ance |
| Unfortunately, I am not that type of nigglet |
| But pass the pot let me skillet |
| Just got back to the block from a 6 o’clock with Jigga |
| And I’m thinkin’bout signing to the Roc |
| But my niggas on the block still assigned to the rocks |
| And I swear it hurt me, so I try to prevail |
| But when I preach it only hurt their sales |
| Like you’re only gon’end up either dead or in jail |
| But you my nigga |
| Wish you the best, for real |
| When you mention my name amongst other white rappers |
| Or for that matter, any fucking rapper |
| Fuck it, painter, skater, musician, trailer park |
| Dirt ditch digging, burger flipping, eat, sleep shittin’human being |
| You would be in trouble to buy double a cup of me To these others, cause comparatively speaking |
| My reach is beyond the bubble that they put me in My vision’s beyond the Hubble’s, I huddle with Nubians |
| You beginning again you in school at 10, late |
| Radioactive’s going gold |
| And so? |
| Great! |
| Do I give a flying duck if I’m applying love to my rhyming, |
| Plus aligning us? |
| Alabama’s climbing up, wait, no I don’t give a flying duck |
| Nothin’but a buckshot |
| Chick POW! |
| Motherfuck your life, pussy blood clot |
| Ain’t never been a rapper this cold since 2Pac was froze |
| And thawed out for a spot date at a Coachella show |
| Yelawolf |
| Weed a different color like a hoodrat’s bra and panties |
| And my flow be overhead like pots and pans in pantries |
| And see guys, I’m high like Michael Jackson’s penny loafers |
| Moonwalkin’on the sun, barefoot, with shades on The bitch pussy smell like a penguin, |
| Wouldn’t hit that shit with my worst enemy’s penis |
| Bitch, when I say this I mean this: Hoe, I’m the meanest |
| Dick so big stretch from Earth to Venus |
| That molly got me nauseous, I’m shittin’out monsters |
| Lawless, obnoxious, on that suck my cock shit |
| That is my synopsis, ostrich plot shit |
| Hoes on some got shit Stop it! |
| You not this! |
| Not this, regardless, heartless and awkward |
| Cryin’tears of vodka, premadonna at the concert |
| A goner smokin’chronic bout to vomit gin and toinc |
| Trust me, I’m honest, tell me: Isn’t that ironic? |
| Swiftly, I shift the beamer 8−60 |
| A heavy smoker so you know I brought the blake with me The moon’s reflection off the lake hit me You should have stayed with me, now many Asian bitches lay with me The face is silky like a tablecloth |
| My shorty gallop in the morning on the beach like a Chilean horse |
| Red roses drop from boxes very often |
| Confetti tossing, drinking Henny like I’m Kenny Lofton |
| Outstanding |
| I fixed the game between Georgia Southern and Grambling |
| You see us scrambling, selling Susan Sarandon |
| The cloud of smoke like the Phantom |
| Damn this shit taste like fantastic |
| You see me coming through in each state |
| Just so the lord can put the fork inside the cheesecake |
| Cuffed to my wrist I got the briefcase |
| Gabble slam, I’m a free man, try not to eat ham |
| Spit like my last breath, casket wrapped, six deep |
| Eyes closed, the black is back, out cold, the legs went flat |
| After that, bottles I can’t pronounce, like how you ask for that? |
| Why you ask for crack and all you had was scratch? |
| All I had was rap when all they had was wack |
| All I wanted was love, all they had was dap |
| Fuck them haters and fuck them hoes |
| A championship wins the aftermath |
| Ask Lebron, open palm slap a bitch |
| Walk the the plank, I’ll break a bank |
| I’ve been in the business of sinkin’ships |
| Choking niggas out with the anchors they they anchored with |
| Resuscitations cost the label, I’m taxin’if you want a hit |
| Clear fuck your career bitch, I was born here |
| Been a killer, eighty-sixer, nigga that’s my born year |
| Get the fuck from round here that’s just my country ways |
| Suckin’on your mama’s titty, bitchin’while I was choppin’blades |
| Grippin’grain, fuckin’hoes, candy paint like everglades |
| Miss me with that rapper, child, I’ll take that shit up with my base |
| I put that on my soul, how could you ever doubt me? |
| Most rappers hopin’the world end |
| So they won’t have to drop another album |
| B.B. King’s all the king in me so why can’t you? |
| In order to come up close you’ll have to dig up cash and Elvis too |
| The way they water flow, Dixie River Pass |
| Fuck your Louis flag, poppin’Benjie tags on your wifey’s ass |
| That’s out of line, but in living color |
| I m more like Miya Bailey on you rap motherfuckers |
| A true artist |