| Yea… Life
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| Type shit…
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| You need to have a driver for this
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| Type shit you ride home too
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| Niggas too talkative
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| Chatty Cathy ass simps, I’m on this bossin' shit
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| My homie just came home, he got a corner office in this
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| Empire, I constructed brick by brick, this rap hustling
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| Tennis shoes, t-shirts, lunchboxes, fuck it
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| If it could be sold then lets do it, if it could be sold we gon' move it
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| I got the driveway to prove it, crazy high, but I’m not stupid
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| Blood hound know where the loot is, bring my homies straight to it
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| My bitches gettin' high to the music
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| My gangsta bros before me show me exactly how to do it
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| You only gon' get out it, whatever you put into it
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| So I go extra to make sure my shit come with the leather
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| The sunroof, the carbon fiber, Alcantara whatever
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| Navigation, blue tooth, all kind of shit I never use
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| Sittin' in that Skyline, the style of a stockbroker
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| Storytellin' weed slanging pot smoker
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| Revolutionary, rollin Chevy till I fall over
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| Told em, bury me a G and let my momma have the cheese
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| Though I’ll never die cause the music livin' in the streets
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| That’s all that matter to me
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| Cause this other shit ain’t real, them hoes just fuckin' because of that deal
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| These niggas livin' life with you until they just get jealous and you get killed
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| I’m just ridin', smokin', prayin'
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| That the lord keep them away, and we keep gettin' this money
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| Cause we legends in the makin', I’m sayin'
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| …life |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Biscayne Bay , by - Curren$y. Song from the album Cigarette Boats, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп