| For my nigga Hush
|
| Yeah, look
|
| Dressed in fatigues, I rep the East with my trustees
|
| Smokin' on crushed leaves
|
| They turn they back on everything we built, then they must bleed
|
| I’ve seen splatter hit the snow when the blood freeze
|
| Straps over territory they know we must keep
|
| Get home and white Air Forces get brushed clean
|
| Back when my mama would interrupt sleep
|
| To tell me hurry up 'cause the bus leaves
|
| Summertime heatwaves, I used to just cut sleeves
|
| My shorty really love me, man, she want me to cut keys
|
| I can’t do that normal type of life, is it just me?
|
| Niggas steady try to ride the wave, but it’s rough seas
|
| I’m losin' enough sleep dealin' with envy
|
| And the news that they sent for me got the block in a frenzy
|
| It’s on Meech like it’s trendy
|
| Runnin' round from Laurier to MacKenzie when the city’s empty, yeah
|
| Early twenties, but I want fifties, hundreds, not pennies
|
| I need plenty
|
| Got me ready to flip the F out like Fendi
|
| Whatever’s in me, it’s takin' over
|
| I gotta bust it down, break it open
|
| Until somebody starts takin' notice, then we rollin'
|
| Yeah, then we rollin', then we rollin'
|
| Deep pockets on a nigga, I can’t find my phone in
|
| Now we rollin'
|
| Yeah, then we rollin', then we rollin'
|
| Deep pockets on a nigga, I can’t find my phone in
|
| Now we rollin'
|
| Look
|
| Back when Big Apple sold dreams, I stuck to my own thing
|
| Back when the house that I own now was my home screen
|
| Before I’d ever hit the road and feel like the home team
|
| Runnin' missions
|
| Pyramid schemes just like the Egyptians
|
| Back when hotlines were still flippin'
|
| Now I’m seein' money off of hotlines blingin' but it feels different
|
| Transitions, plans switchin', ambition
|
| Mindin' my business, buildin' a business, et cetera
|
| Inspired by a few, but my mind really drives itself like Tesla
|
| I always had a little somethin' extra
|
| Back when Corey was our sole investor
|
| And the car could get from A to B, but won’t impress ya
|
| Look, I ain’t no baller
|
| Still need my accounts longer like the way my nephew’s gettin' taller
|
| My soundtrack is the second Carter, dreamin' of acceptin' offers
|
| And easin' tensions
|
| Keepin' family out of East Detention
|
| And out of Pine Hill Funeral Center
|
| Spots we got no business enterin'
|
| Back when Jill Scott was the apple of my afrocentric eye
|
| I had to find a way to get someone’s attention
|
| Then we rollin', then we rollin'
|
| Deep pockets on a nigga, I can’t find my phone in
|
| Now we rollin'
|
| Yeah, then we rollin', then we rollin'
|
| Deep pockets on a nigga, I can’t find my phone in
|
| Now we rollin' |