| Burn a half a pound in my suite
|
| Pull the room down, no white mold on my leaf
|
| Outta town, they four-grand each
|
| Let this work speak for me, wrist cold as the streets
|
| Remember in December, back in 2003
|
| When he handed me a hundred-thousand dollars for some weed
|
| It was me, Niice, Black, and Fee
|
| Sauce in the back, breaking down sweets
|
| My heart’s cold, too many had to leave
|
| It’s hard to fall asleep
|
| We talk often in my dreams
|
| I want you here, I don’t care if you’re lookin' down
|
| They smell the purple piss everytime I pull around
|
| Real city boy, they love your boy in the town
|
| Houston, Atlanta, now I’m Vegas bound
|
| Money in my carry-on, fuck it though
|
| They can pull me off the plane and try to run up in my home
|
| You know I stay ready, nothing where my daughter sleeps
|
| These dudes crying broke, really, they don’t wanna eat
|
| I took a hundred P’s, sold it in a half hour
|
| And pulled ten pounds off one plant of sour
|
| Real dope boy, Bern’ll never switch
|
| OT, tryna' sweat a bitch
|
| Cookie bag, full of dead presidents
|
| Ridin' with a cannon big enough to kill an elephant
|
| This the life we chose
|
| Long nights, pretty hoes
|
| Hard white, outdoor for the low
|
| Cash out, re-up, let 'em go
|
| They talkin' crazy on my telephone
|
| This the way we live
|
| Crazy, all the shit we did
|
| Triple wrap each one right before we ship
|
| Why they catch 'em and they let 'em go?
|
| They talkin' crazy on my telephone
|
| Man, I just made four-mil
|
| Pull down, indoor, grow room, sell the whole field
|
| In October I sent trucks up the hill
|
| Let 'em go for sixteen, give a fuck how you feel
|
| Uh, yeah, I’m done playin' with the mail
|
| In California they’re for sell
|
| If you send 'em and you fail, who you blaming?
|
| How many folders is my name in?
|
| I’m duckin' D.E.A. |
| agents while we high-sidin'
|
| Float around in foreign vehicles
|
| Back to back Euro shit, I got a whole fleet of 'em
|
| Three-hundred pounds in L.A., shit, I’m leavin' 'em
|
| With B-Real, I’ll pick up the money in a week or two
|
| This the shit kings do
|
| I promise all my stones flawless
|
| I got rich from marijuana products
|
| In the grill, choppin' game with Jamaican farmers
|
| Prayin' it don’t rain, I’m waitin' for my harvest
|
| This the life we chose
|
| Long nights, pretty hoes
|
| Hard white, outdoor for the low
|
| Cash out, re-up, let 'em go
|
| They talkin' crazy on my telephone
|
| This the way we live
|
| Crazy, all the shit we did
|
| Tripple wrap each one right before we ship
|
| Why they catch 'em and they let 'em go?
|
| They talkin' crazy on my telephone |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Telephone , by - Berner. Song from the album Hempire, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп