| Shit, sweep you off your feet
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| Like Ryu in the corner
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| Shit, man, haha
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| Smooth, man
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| I’m a fuckin' smooth mover, uh
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| Yo, if I didn’t say it’s me, you would probably think it’s Sting
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| My fish go bling, what, this old thing?
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| I never switch up, my brother need a biscuit
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| Then I’m gripped up, hangin' off my shoulder, fuck the bullshit
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| November rain came the same day
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| My daughter taught me how to do the Nae Nae to Calle 13
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| Only compare me to Kevin Spacey
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| Or Rubén Blades, the blunt fat like two Kamalas
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| Do a world tour and scoop some dollars
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| Come home and hit the pool hall
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| I’m fishbowlin' new Impalas
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| Two Russian twins suck while I drive fast
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| It’s me, man
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| I’m the one that takes the wolf head, wears it on my own head
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| Wisdom from the old heads, you ain’t gettin' no head
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| You ain’t gettin' no bread, you ain’t gettin' no shows
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| You ain’t gettin' no dough, you ain’t gettin' no hoes
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| Dawg, I hit the best of 'em, motherfuck the rest of 'em
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| Well, now I’m nestled in the Tesla eatin' pretzels, huh?
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| I should probably put a wetsuit on
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| I’ll be right back…
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| Young Renzel, line two
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| Young A.B., I got this you dig?
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| Yeah, yo (Maybach music)
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| I love my rude bitches, end up as new bitches
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| Skippin' school bitches, cookin' me food bitches
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| All my niggas down, we lookin' like Fu-Schnickens
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| Got a few tickets for bitches who truly digged us
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| College dormitories, fill 'em with smooth lyrics
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| Air Max 95s, grey sweats, true menace
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| Known as a Jonas, complex on the phoner
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| Simple individual, confident in the Lotus
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| Foreign ambitions, they go with my last wishes
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| As I open my eyes, surprised by seven figures
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| Baking soda required, decided drug dealin'
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| Residents is divided amongst the feds and children
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| Let him keep totin' drugs if he willin' to plead guilty
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| The star state witness, they’ll hit you up for that selfie
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| Dro can only help me, Backwood and I’m healthy
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| I’m the label owner, I’m the only one can shelf me
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| Biggest (Maybach music) boss
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| Why are we letting things in the outside of our physical penetrate our soul,
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| penetrate our neural wiring system, our cerebral cortex, okay? |
| Wh-what really
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| is a thought? |
| Can you control when a thought arrives outside of the brain?
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| Can you or can’t you? |
| Is free will a-a real thing or is it the philosophy of
|
| free will, see 'cause scrip-ahaha… |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 9-24-7000, artist - Action Bronson. Album song Blue Chips 7000, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп