| I hail from Freedom Hill, on my feet, I stand
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| And what used to be Fila’s and Reebok’s, damn
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| I would meet you at the weed spot where we got grams
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| Enough, Doc couldn’t detox, so need I plan
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| To squeeze off, man, if we not fam
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| And let them die for ever trying to calcify my penile gland
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| Yeah, they rap like fajitas but chica’s fan of whose
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| Getting more play like the east side band, ya heard
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| She likes diction, a lot of words
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| Non-fiction, a bad boy pissed and who fly the bird
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| If he’s a Christian, what is this, he got the Earth
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| 93 million miles away, Glock in her purse
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| Ahk' got the nerve, yeah, I know I ought to serve
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| Everybody looking for a fix, if I got the work
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| This is not a curse, chip on my collared shirt
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| Bless manifest my destiny, yep, without the church
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| Amen, whose son is making a living
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| Done chasing the chicken but stashed cake in the kitchen
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| Some hated we kick it, these bums basically sickened
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| Not a part of my body, God, too big for tripping, huh
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| My alibi, tell them I was high when you seen me
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| Resurrect Malcolm X, raise my Kundalini
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| Genocide couldn’t pry me out the black beanie
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| Still tapped the bottle of Moscato, watch the genie
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| Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
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| Praising Gandhi, you gon' have to praise the shooter x4
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| While YouTube got niggas fooled
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| Fuck the neh-neh, I’m just trying to get a free like
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| Whole lot of followers, a lot less leading
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| When y’all niggas gonna realize you can’t hashtag freedom
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| Hashtag free my nigga when you know he did it
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| Make us like ignorant, and his business
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| As a culture, now we back where we started, all over
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| While niggas in the club predict rain like Al Roker
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| I’m just trying to get us on track like locomotives
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| Touch your soul, like what’s the motive
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| I just hope you remain focused on what the goal is
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| God body, young Marcus Garvey, my mama said
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| Hood’s prophet, I’m hood’s topic
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| 2 years later, I still got it, fuck the street cred
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| In the '86 Cutlass bumping Jeezy
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| Holler at your boy if you ever need me
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| Cause I’m gone, maybe off the liquor
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| Or maybe in the '86 Caprice with a lift kit
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| Either way it goes, I’m lifted
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| While niggas iced out to the T like they Lipton
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| Dumbing down their lyrics just to get some recognition
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| I’ll be in the booth like Craig Mack kicking flavor in your system
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| Uh, or better yet, your eardrum
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| Fuck the metaphors, hope the truth make you listen
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| Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
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| Praising Gandhi, you gon' have to praise the shooter
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| So hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
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| Praising Gandhi, you gon' have to praise the shooter
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| If it’s to being self to me, I think I figure that
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| Most y’all started rapping cause you thought that’s where the figures at
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| Try to change the game like Three 6 before the Oscars
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| Knowing I’m popping and keep it going, no show-stopping
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| I’m more like Vlade in LA, you know, without the flopping
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| Been in game but it’s all the same, still point dropping
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| In the view of the mind and hit up Lauryn, get it popping
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| It’s crazy, she used to stop and never stay and leave you talking
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| Topics I’m okay with sharing now
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| Before they didn’t think about it, guess who’s caring now
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| Because their favorite rapper been slacking, I’ll go and then put a track in
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| Demolish y’all polished flows that was keeping their fans attracted
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| And I dig, don’t speak on it, karma keep me repenting
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| Made mistakes and now my plate look like a big pile of spinach
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| Too strong, had to move on, the city say I’m due, uh
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| Been at it for some years, we eating free without a coupon
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| Y’all daughter joined like Groupon, been off that shit
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| Suggest you go and get a job and try to catch up quick
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| Dealing with Jasmine last night on some catch up shit
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| She thinking I done changed, I’m young and grown up quick
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| So I split
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| Yeah, it’s that joint that make your head nod
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| Rest in peace, Big Pun, this my terror squad
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| You don’t want me on your songs, it’s the fear of God
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| I remember when they said my verses wasn’t hard
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| Now what’s the motive, I’m trying to cop the Lotus
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| Driving around town, wave my hand like the POTUS
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| Fat boy, larger than life, they all notice
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| When niggas think you on, they lining up to be your soldiers
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| But being broke is like waking up with Folgers
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| Turn the lights on, we watching roaches
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| I swore I wouldn’t change, spent my money on material things
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| Me and my niggas roll tough like we started a gang
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| Fucked a couple broads once, now they calling to hang
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| Dough told me let them be if they don’t call you by name
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| Floor seats, Madison Square, just catching the game
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| When they scared to give you props, they just call you a fuck that |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Kings , by - Jalen Santoy. Song from the album Words Paint Pictures, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп