| Ten damn days
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| And all I got to show for it is shoes and shows and chauffeurs with road rage
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| Still the same damn ad-lib: IGH!, always
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| Still gotta letterman, no practice
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| Still gotta burner man, no lacking
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| Still outtin Jams nigga, no Jackson
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| No Jordan and we toe-tagging
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| I’ll take you to land, where the lake made of sand
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| And the milk don’t pour and the honey don’t dance
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| And the money ain’t yours
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| Now it’s just a red pill,
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| Got a blue and a hand full of Advils
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| I’m the new Nitty, fuck it Nitty the the old me
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| So I’m a tell the buyer what Nitty told me
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| I got that Mmm Mmm
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| I got that God damn
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| I’m yo pusha man
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| I’m yo, I’m yo pusha man
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| Pimp slapping, toe taggin
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| I’m just tryna fight the man
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| I’m yo pusha man
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| I’m yo, I’m yo pusha man
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| You a laaaaaaaame, and your bitch break down my weed sometimes
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| See my face in the streets, in the tweets
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| And a Reader or a Redeye if you read Sun-Times
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| She got blisters on her knees, she’s a fiend for the D
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| Even though I only beat one time
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| One time it was one two times
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| It was two plus me equals threesome time
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| Shouts out to Nate, I jackball and I bop, I flex
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| Got neck from all these thots I sex
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| Rastafari them shottas yes
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| House safari, mi casa, yes
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| Poppy fields of that popeye
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| She came to party, she popped a Molly
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| Said «come to papa», she said «papa, yes»
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| I’ve been riding around with my blunt on my lips
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| With the sun in my eyes, and my gun on my hip
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| Paranoia on my mind, got my mind on the fritz
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| But a lotta niggas dying, so my 9 with the shits
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| Move to the neighborhood, I bet they don’t stay for good, watch
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| Somebody’ll steal daddy’s rollie, and call it the neighborhood watch
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| Pray for a safer hood when my paper good, watch
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| Captain save the hood, hood savior, baby boy, still get ID’d for swishers
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| Mama still wash my clothes, still with Save Money militia
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| I’m a still watch my bros
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| Trapped in the middle of the map, with a little bitty rock
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| And a little bit of rap
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| That with a literary knack and a little shitty Mac
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| And like literally jack
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| They murking kids, they murder kids here
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| Why you think they don’t talk about it? |
| They deserted us here
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| Where the fuck is Matt Lauer at? |
| Somebody get Katie Couric in here
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| Probably scared of all the refugees, look like we had a fucking hurricane here
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| They be shooting whether it’s dark or not, I mean the days is pretty dark a lot
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| Down here it’s easier to find a gun than it is to find a fucking parking spot
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| No love for the opposition, specifically a cop position,
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| Cause they’ve never been in our position
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| Getting violations for the nation, correlating, you dry snitching
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| I know you scared, you should ask us if we scared, too.
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| I know you scared, me too.
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| I know you scared, you should ask us if we scared, too.
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| If you was there, then we just knew you’d care, too.
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| It just got warm out, this this shit I’ve been warned about.
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| I hope that it storm in the morning, I hope that it’s pouring out.
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| I hate crowded beaches, I hate the sound of fireworks.
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| And I ponder what’s worse between knowing it’s over and dying first.
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| Cause everybody dies in the summer.
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| Wanna say ya goodbyes, tell them while it’s spring.
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| I heard everybody’s dying in the summer, so pray to God for a little more
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| spring.
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| I know you scared, you should ask us if we scared, too.
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| If you was there, then we just knew you’d care, too. |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Pusha Man , by - Chance The Rapper. Song from the album Acid Rap, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп