Lyrics Stressed Out - Cellski, SB, Baldhead Rick

Stressed Out

Yeah
Started off selling dope with twenty dollars
Doubled my money, made forty, bought a fifty shot from this baller
Cut it down to ten shots at two knots
Made one twenty on the block and now I got to go re-cop
A quarter ounce so I can bounce up to a whole
And so son made some money back now I’m foldin'
A little mail making sales copping zips now
Getting my money on sewing up my side of town
Getting fetti, now I’m ready to be the fucking man
Trying to serve weight instead of having rocks in my hand
Just yesterday my double ups just bubbled up
Having all kinda dead presidents in my pockets crumpled up
Stacking mail, clientele is what I’m buildin'
In my buildin', straight dope fiends with ghetto children
That’s how I’m livin', been livin' there since a baby
No if, ands no maybes and that’s why a nigga just go crazy
Or maybe it’s the dank that make me think and stress
With this nine make a nigga undress and cop to a less
I’m just a young thug, selling dope and drugs
The city that I’m from really ain’t got no love
The inner-city hoodlums shootin' up the block
Because last week my nigga was on they side and he got popped
And my niggas tryin' to go the right route
And that right there keep a nigga stressed out
I’m stressed out, mayne
With the realest niggas trigger-happy all off in Cali
Jacking everything from a pizza man to a taxi now see
We in this game we make D though
Hit my track with a sack of two O’s and a Desert Eagle
Off some dosia serving 'caine, keeps me cautious of the 5−0 though
But now I’m living that fast life, push the pedal to the floor
So much game I developed from my older brother
Maintain my paper and the hookers never to put before your business
My potnas with riders on the corner slanging this yola
Back with Berettas, we poppin' coppers
Real hustlers serving these baseheads hubbas
Now seeing this cream’s making a killing
And I’m on my turf jookin', keeps a grip in my pocket of my Pendleton
Fuck them rollers rollin' violently when boomin'
Seems a gang of folks come out when the set be movin'
Them crack sellers, them dice shootas
Them doped-out baseheads gone on that hooba
A nigga stressed out
Stressin', stressin' as fuck when a nigga gotta duck
From the nigga bustin at your ass in a Datsun buck'
So your best bet is to hit the cuts and creep
Grab your H-K gun, nigga that’s done so you can put these niggas to sleep
Kids are bustin' and bustin' 'em while they tossin' me up
From the bang, pop shake them more, bust
Now these faggot niggas are smashin' through the cuts
That’s what I thought, fuckin' with this boy, a G
Raised up in the back of the God damn fuckin' U-N-L-V streets
San Fran-psycho, the land of the lunatics
Where niggas will put the gun in your mouth and unload the whole clip
Ruthless when the god damn, fuckin' riders that’s down with ninas
Case we gotta smash up on them marks like them fuckin
Blastin' at task with a face mask keepin' away from the jackin'
Because I’m a black ass ghetto inner-city hoodlum assassin
A violent nigga known for packin' a tec, a Smith & Wess
Decapitate nigga’s heads up quick, put fifteen holes in your chest
Because a nigga like me stay the stressed off the dank
Too many stressed out bosses that’s in this mine field go blank
'Cause a nigga readdy to take out a baller with the clout
Me and Swoop and U-N-L-V and Cellski straight stressed out
Got a nine, your ass is in the line of fire
Put a pause on your life now you’ll just retire
'Cause when you fuck with Swoop you get fucked real quick
Bucks on that ass, like I was Steve Seagal, bitch
It’s that real, got that choice you better feel me
In killa Cali, where niggas show no fuckin' pity
About a bitch at all, never sip that eight ball
But pop me some of that Hen' and that Mad Dog
Twenty twenty, I got ten on a twomp sack
Let’s roll it up, blow it up, get lit, 'cause it’s borin' on the track
And plus them rollers out all damn day y’all
Let’s dodge 'em in the cut, get these punks off our balls
'Cause I’m doing illeg' up in these inner city streets
Packin' grams giving up tens four for thirty
So when you roll through the 'view look for Little Swoop
And I’m a have 'em fat all damn day for you
And for the hoes, you ain’t gettin' no love
Me, plug a hoe and make myself look like a punk?
Hell nah, I ain’t gone brown-nose in ninety-four
'Cause that ain’t how the d-o game goes
Stressed out