| My father was heavy in the dope game
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| I’m talking early 80s
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| You know them coke days
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| At a tender age I was breastfed cocaine
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| That was my first intro to the dope game
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| Grew up watching Tony Montanas in real life
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| It’s only right I wanted to be Tony in real life
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| At 14 I started selling weed, moved on to acid, LSD
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| My mom found a stash and flushed, the whole thing
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| Oh Shit, now its time for a plan B
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| Caught my first 8-Ball at 120
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| Broke it drown and flipped it for 3
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| Did it a couple times, flipped O-Z's
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| From there, I was on my way keys
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| Got saved by the rap game, and that was it for me
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| Damn I came from the dope game
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| Dope game raised me
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| I’ve been getting money since the 80s
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| While my hoes tryna tame me
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| I was making sure some fool paid me
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| While rap guys tell fiction
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| I’m in the courtroom beating the conviction'
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| I play hard in Detroit like a piston (what else?)
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| My weed bags be chunky, call it Lipton
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| Lipton, homie what it be like
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| Sit the pot in the ice so it freeze right
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| Take the cookie out, put it on the bounty
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| I’m from the go-game, homie kings county (what else?)
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| Master criminal activity
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| Flatness squeeze, clack, clack willingly
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| Credit card scams, i bust checks on 'em
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| Anything to get green like the jets on 'em
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| I swing bars like dope, blow
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| My 16's be the o’s, my flow be the coke
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| Money ain’t green even though i got soap
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| The trap house looking like a ski slope
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| Money, that is my wife
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| Put a ring on my wallet and guard it with my life
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| You see the coup, the products in the muffler
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| Call me Larry Flynt, jack I’m a hustler
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| When it comes to this shit I’m a monster
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| And when it comes to this shit you win an Oscar
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| Welch ass nigga you’s a Simp
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| Me, I’m a pimp, leg’s fine but I limp
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| Got cane, candy red rain
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| Jay got Beyonce, I settle for Celine
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| Cash heavy gotta move it with a crane
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| My bread crazy, bank account insane
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| When Trazz on the track it’s certified crack
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| Baggie hit the streets you can watch your money stack
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| Rap’s like the crack game, now I’m in a trap
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| Pay me 30 stacks, see your money double back, uh)
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| My 16's come out doper than codeine (what?)
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| One verse from Trazz, get you bigger than protein (yeah)
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| Music b-boy, beats i destroy
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| Flick my style and watch the pockets key lord
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| Whether rap or crack all the same (same)
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| Heroin flow, got it running through my veins
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| Stay in my post while they fiend for a dose
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| And see my product travel all the way down the coast
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| Oooh, It’s like a virus, they got to try this
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| I love the green you’d swear I was Irish
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| I write my bars and sell them by the jars (jars)
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| The fiends here can’t get enough, like el da barge, know why?
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| Now you can A-town stomp or you can rock away
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| But when I was hustling I never gave a rock away
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| They say St. Louis raised me, certified 80s baby
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| Been through a lot of shit for months, like a pregnant lady
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| All I remember is crip and blood differences
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| Some niggas made it out but others we remember them
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| But on the better note know we all getting money now
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| My past was no joke but everything funny now
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| I’m talking stress-free Bentley is nestle
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| Mr. What-the-hook-gone-be (Murphy lee!) that’s me
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| Spending all money, sometimes on your honey
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| Taking turns for me, she making that to-go money
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| I’m glad I’m smart enough not to do a lot of stuff
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| Never had to prove that the young dude was hard enough
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| Even though I came from the city where I came from
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| Moves made all around me but I ain’t saying nothing
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| Can’t you tell that I came from the dope game
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| 150 grams of soda mixed with cocaine
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| The iron chef, I whip it up in hell’s kitchen (tell 'em)
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| Shit it’s all in the wrist, boy I’m nice with it
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| Get a coffee pot hot, drop some ice in it
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| Take it out, chop it down, put a price with it
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| Frank Lucas had the blue magic
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| I’m like Freeway Rick, I move traffic
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| I’m a hustler baby, things tryin' talk me down
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| I’m like fuck you, pay me
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| Funds got bigger, guns got bigger
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| The block got dry then we robbing them dealers
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| When they come through, then we at it again
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| Cooking pies, do or die, but we at it to win
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| Got goons that’ll bust, tell 'em where and when
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| Wide city dope boy, I got money to spend
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| Motherfucker! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Can't U Tell , by - Dj NoodlesSong from the album Can't U Tell, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп