Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Miles Away, artist - Blu & Exile. Album song Miles, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 16.07.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Dirty Science
Song language: English
Miles Away |
Yeah, Las Vegas and Los Angeles |
Louisiana, Atlanta, Miami, Florida, nigga |
We ain’t in Kansas |
Virginia, New York, New Jersey |
Indiana, Detroit, Chicago, Portland |
Even Montana, yo I ran to Texas |
Away from my exes, in search of that next shit |
But where was I headed? |
They thought I was destined for riches |
The way he climbed out of them ditches |
If I wasn’t now getting nine figures |
He was probably fucking with bitches |
My mama missed me |
I feel bad when I get tipsy |
Reminiscing on how we used to wish, watching Walt Disney |
But now it’s all shitty |
My nigga, that grind is gritty |
If you ain’t getting that big cheese, homie |
You gotta forgive me |
We tryna control this city, as if we don’t already |
Shit, other than more money |
What do you get when you get in and study? |
Chickens be hitting the celly |
But none of them niggas is ready |
They used to be hitting them licks |
But now we be hitting the Henny |
10s and 20s be leaving a nigga feeling empty, trust |
My nigga did five years for 150 bucks |
Niggas be spending they nights in prison 'cause they fucking careless |
I’m tryna be spending my nights in Paris rolling a fucking square up |
I ain’t got time to waste |
Ain’t got time to stay |
I’m on the move |
Promised Land is a mile away |
I be damned if I miss my fate |
I’m trying to go further than yesterday |
I’m just trying to go further than yesterday |
Las Vegas and Los Angeles |
Louisiana, Atlanta, Miami, Florida, homie |
We ain’t in Kansas |
They where them grams is |
Holding hammers like they’re cameras |
Practicing handles and jump shots, tryna get drafted |
My cousin was drafted |
My other cousin was killed in an accident |
Another one drafted |
And another one practices backspins |
And I be rapping, stacking until my last win |
Cashing in like I’m trapping, but never trapped in |
We used to go overboard just to talk |
But now we be bored, like what happened? |
No more shows and awards, no more clapping |
No more writing rhymes on a napkin, damn, no more passion |
Like niggas used to be gassed to rip that plastic off of that rap shit |
And now it’s like we wrapping a package |
Thinking how long will that last? |
'Til you on your last run |
Hoping the po’s don’t catch us |
Hoping the lows pass us |
Keeping a pad and paying a car off |
Hoping it ends better than how it started off |
I ain’t got time to waste |
Ain’t got time to stay |
I’m on the move |
Promised Land is a mile away |
I be damned if I miss my fate |
I’m trying to go further than yesterday |
I’m just trying to go further than yesterday |
My nigga, Virginia, New York, New Jersey |
Indiana, Detroit, Cali, Chicago |
St. Louis, Montana, back to Africa |
My nigga, Sudan, the motherland |
Amsterdam and Japan |
And in the other land I heard my last name’s from London |
I wonder what was there to make them name a king after another man |
But who cares, I’m tryna chill out in Brazil |
Spend a mil' on a house on a hill |
And not worry about a record deal |
Well who feels this or who feels that |
I heard about a few rich niggas who still feel whack |
I’m tryna feel fact, chill back |
See a fat ass and feel that, that’s real |
And not worry about the pills, caps |
I peel back the sweepstakes prize, want fries? |
The homie said he wish he could live his life through my eyes |
Six million ways to die |
How many ways to survive? |
And these days and times, how many people will ride? |
When there ain’t nowhere to hide |
I ain’t got time to waste |
Ain’t got time to stay |
I’m on the move |
Promised Land is a mile away |
I be damned if I miss my fate |
I’m trying to go further than yesterday |
I’m just trying to go further than yesterday |