| Yeah, my weed lit,
|
| My glass chill,
|
| Couldn’t be concerned less how a hater feel
|
| Car service only opportunity if I rest,
|
| In between destinations a lil hibernation
|
| Life under the scope I gotta stay fresh,
|
| They just wanna see ya fallin'
|
| The only reason the cameras are when ya walkin'
|
| The only reason they listenin' when ya talkin',
|
| Waitin on ya to contridict yaself
|
| All be and edvict yourself from the house
|
| Like when Beth instigated that situation
|
| When Tammy got David kicked out
|
| Suckers tryin' figure my angle,
|
| Puzzled by my shuffle aka wood in the bengals
|
| And just my Wayans brothers in the prescence of danger,
|
| Drop bombs on them niggas from the middle
|
| Stay calm knowin' we belong on the top,
|
| But we ain’t trippin',
|
| Cause we’ll get there in a minute
|
| Yeah, that’s the statement for the mission
|
| Swiss move me so my watch ain’t tickin'
|
| Who yo crew is,
|
| Them niggas is bomb,
|
| Throwin partise like yeah bitch come
|
| They all at my art showin,
|
| Me and my folks gettin drunk
|
| Bangin' my sound from the wall mouse
|
| Yeah, life under the scope
|
| Everything is a test,
|
| It’s all day
|
| Go, full speed, full court
|
| Media, press,
|
| They just wann see ya fuck it all up
|
| Turn over, make ya give the ball up
|
| They just wanna see ya fuck it all up
|
| (Yeah)
|
| Vintage any chance hangin' from the ceilin,
|
| Naked beauties and blush pillows in em,
|
| Incense and fresh linen,
|
| I spit that complex venom
|
| The real niggas it strengthins
|
| The fake niggas it kills them,
|
| And the Big homie said
|
| That he «Still got visions of the rooftop.»
|
| As do I,
|
| George, Jets and Jefferson
|
| Deluxe apartment in the sky,
|
| Niggas can’t downplay me baby
|
| I’m too high
|
| Pilots speak I crafted these in my I’m pala seat,
|
| A New Orleans nigga,
|
| And I’m way in the NYC weed twistin'
|
| On a mission and I’m fishin' for my nigga Skibeatz
|
| I been in the game, OG
|
| Seen fools blow up
|
| And blow it low key |