| So many years in the dope game pushin' big weight
|
| Gettin' to the cheese
|
| Ooh wee wee
|
| All you copycat killas can’t compare to a villain like me
|
| 'Cause I feed these streets with my ring
|
| Neva, neva let your livin' go sky
|
| Too many foes on the
|
| And never, never claim somethin' that’s not yours
|
| Fuck around and get popped
|
| I woke up in the mornin' and broke a zip down
|
| Pre-rolls for the day, pulled the whips out
|
| Both phones ringin', Facetime audio
|
| I’m choppin' up game, we control where the (?) go
|
| Go to the stash house to pull some cash out
|
| Ray Ray’s on the couch still passed out
|
| Lookin' through the cabinets, we outta vac' bags
|
| I need a few more rolls, where they grab that?
|
| Lil' Ray Ray woke up. |
| he said, «hit Stonestown»
|
| Hit my watch on the counter, knocked a stone out
|
| And now I’m grumpy as hell
|
| I hopped in his Porsche truck
|
| I shoulda known by the smell that we were dirty
|
| But I’m really in a hurry
|
| The spot close at five, I need to send a buck thirty (about thirty grand)
|
| We should have never took Lincoln
|
| I’m stuck up in traffic, seen an unmarked creepin' (shit)
|
| Here go the lights for no reason
|
| Ray ain’t speakin', I can tell what he thinkin' (shhh!)
|
| Man, don’t say nada
|
| I seen a duffel bag in the back by the
|
| How’s it goin'? |
| It smells like weed
|
| Wait, aren’t you the rapper with the store in Geneva? |
| (yeah, that’s me)
|
| I could tell he’s a fan but the other cop approached, he said, «show me your hands!» |
| (hey, chill out, bro)
|
| Look guys, I got a show at nine
|
| He said this ain’t about you, we wanna talk to the driver
|
| He looked at Ray, stop wastin' my time
|
| 'Cause the homie left your house, he was wearin' a wire
|
| Dead silence, Ray started laughin' (why you laughin', dawg?)
|
| He opened up the door and went for the package
|
| Grabbed the duffel, all they found was some Polo
|
| They mad, the fan boy asked for a photo
|
| Four o’clock when we got the spot
|
| The thot flaked on me, had to send my own box (I hate that shit)
|
| I started fillin' out the slip then the dude behind the counter asked Bern' for
|
| a pic
|
| Now I know I can’t trust him
|
| It’s four-fifteen, I need to set down somethin'
|
| Look, cousin, I appreciate the love
|
| I’ll be right back, I left somethin' in my truck
|
| Fuck
|
| (The daily struggles of the dope game)
|
| (Go ahead and holla at him, Kokane)
|
| (The daily struggles of the dope game)
|
| (Go ahead and holla at him, Kokane)
|
| You could never walk in my shoes
|
| You could never walk in my shoes
|
| You could never walk in my shoes
|
| You could never walk in my shoes
|
| Why they hatin' on me? |
| (yeah)
|
| So many years in the dope game pushin' big weight
|
| Gettin' to the cheese
|
| Ooh wee wee
|
| All you copycat killas can’t compare to a villain like me
|
| 'Cause I feed these streets with my ring
|
| Neva, neva let your livin' go sky
|
| Too many foes on the
|
| And never, never claim somethin' that’s not yours
|
| Fuck around and get popped
|
| They wanna walk in my shoes
|
| I swear to God they wanna walk in my shoes
|
| They wanna walk in my shoes
|
| I swear to God they wanna walk in my shoes
|
| They wanna walk in my shoes
|
| I swear to God they wanna walk in my shoes
|
| They wanna walk in my shoes
|
| I swear to God they wanna walk in my shoes |