| Yeah
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| Shit sound crazy, Hit
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| The Butcher comin', nigga
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| See the difference is
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| From me and y’all niggas, I really did this shit though
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| So I can say what I wanna say, uh
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| (Hit-Boy)
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| I do this religiously and I don’t trust fools in this industry
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| Mad I came through on a winnin' streak
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| That’s me blastin' through your car auxiliary
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| They wanna John Lennon me, or John Kennedy
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| Since I been on, I feel my adrenaline goin'
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| It take me back to the corners I solicited on
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| You know the ratio, when you from the hood, the only place we know
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| Only three out of ten of us gon' make it though
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| No President Trump shit, elegant thug shit
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| Yeah, left on parole, gettin' heroin plugged in
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| Feelings ain’t 'posed to linger, I left without regrets
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| Numb like anesthesia, feds want me subpoenaed
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| For niggas chasin' goals that I targetted myself
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| Some of my best verses, I’m just talkin' to myself
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| They won’t let me live for shit I already did
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| Everytime my opps need medics, the credit hits
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| I’m like a mirror, not your reflection, the better years
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| But if you break me, that’s bad luck for eleven years
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| Everytime one of us die, I shed a tear
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| Then look in the sky, I wonder if Heaven there
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| That was Benny at the height of the pressure and never scared
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| So the bond that I built with my niggas’ll never tear
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| Only a few in this room, yeah, that’s when you rare
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| Get a million-dollar deal, we used to get rid of squares, hmm
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| Yeah, I’ma push it to the limit
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| Copped the same day and got the windows tinted
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| Dropped two hundred so they really know the difference
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| I’m in it like a taxi, your chick wanna bag me
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| Huh, push it to the limit
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| Copped the same day and got the windows tinted
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| Dropped two hundred so they really know the difference
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| I’m goin' over the limit, we never pose for pictures, motherfucker
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| Live from the block, we came to remind those who forgot me
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| I really bagged dope in Versace
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| Ducked indictments, then got rich, that really shocked me
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| Even the FBI surprised that they don’t got me
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| They tellin' me I’m sayin' too much, but that’s the thing, my shit real
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| And these rappers playin' too much
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| Streets taught me, take it easy, never plan too much
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| Could only move a quarter, then a thousand grams too much
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| I’m speakin' as a survivor
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| The load gettin' heavy, I’m reachin' back for my partners
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| Stuck in them ghettos, that make you feel like a hostage
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| The ones that speak on my pockets can’t imagine doin' a quarter of what I
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| accomplished
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| Around 2010, trap got raided by the sheriffs
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| Came home in 2012, tendin' to my marriage
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| Violated back in '13, broke and embarrassed
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| 2014, I met a plug off of merit
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| Took my best shot everytime my connect stopped by
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| My driveway look like a highway rest stop, hmm
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| You ever been gettin' money, then stopped
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| 'Cause the pressure of gettin' knocked conflicted with Hip-Hop? |
| Hmm
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| Yeah, I’ma push it to the limit
|
| Copped the same day and got the windows tinted
|
| Dropped two hundred so they really know the difference
|
| I’m in it like a taxi, your chick wanna bag me
|
| Huh, push it to the limit
|
| Copped the same day and got the windows tinted
|
| Dropped two hundred so they really know the difference
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| I’m goin' over the limit, we never pose for pictures, motherfucker
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| (Griselda by Fashion Rebels)
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| Please leave a message after the tone
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| Ayo, B, this Caesar, yo
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| Yo, I’ma have your money, man
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| Why you gotta be sendin' niggas down to the shop though, fam?
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| You embarassin' me in front of the company, you know what I’m sayin', fam?
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| I’ma have your lil' fifty thousand, man, I apologize, man
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| A nigga goin' through somethin' right now
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| I make, I make sandwiches all day, nigga, come on, man
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| Don’t, don’t, don’t be too hard on a nigga, man, I mean
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| Oh by the way I make, I make the best tuna melt there is, nigga
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| You need to come down to the shop, you know what I’m sayin'?
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| Instead of sendin' your goonies, they scarin' the white people, man
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| You know what I’m sayin'?
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| You, you can’t be scarin' the white people, they don’t know if it’s Black Live
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| Matters or robbery, you know what I mean?
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| So, y, come on down, fam, we talk it out, I, I got your money, sorry
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| I got your money, man for real, man
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| But you remember you made it, nigga
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| Nigga just tryna make it, nigga
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| Nigga, you made it, nigga, you made it |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Over The Limit , by - Benny the Butcher. Song from the album Burden of Proof, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп