| Yeah! |
| For Real! |
| GOD over Money!
|
| Forever Mobbin' bruh! |
| HOG MOB Nigga, yeah
|
| I’m fully convinced of this thing you feel me? |
| Yeah
|
| I’ve seen it with my own eyes
|
| I’ve felt it with my own heart, yeah ay
|
| Ya digg?
|
| My whole city is a cemetery, brains buried in smeared guts
|
| The proof of my sorrow ain’t carried in tear ducts, nah
|
| I don’t fear much, they be buckin' here
|
| I slept in my bucket here and crept like a buccaneer
|
| I came from beneath dust just like an Arabian tomb
|
| To glow like the Mesopotamian moon
|
| I ain’t playin' I learned to bang in the womb
|
| They still got they baby teeth mane
|
| Beef’s what I mainly consume
|
| Yeah
|
| I washed it down with the deuce double dash
|
| Lights out with the sawed off --
|
| Double blast
|
| Hoping to feed LORD my soul will be restored
|
| Before I leave my enemies deported to the morgue
|
| Huh I’m so famished won’t manage to last
|
| Without encouragement for nourishment the cannon’ll blast
|
| Get ready for the famine or you planning to crash
|
| Like high speed with eyes squeezed and both hands on the gas
|
| When I sleep I see a man in a mask
|
| That’s why I feel I gotta keep enough heat
|
| To turn sand into glass
|
| No weapon formed against me prospers
|
| But I’m overly cautious hit my knee I go to war at these altars
|
| You can tell he’s a soldier even strolling he marches
|
| Got an army of HOG MOB warriors and archers
|
| Born in the storm where we poor and they starve us
|
| And every part of my heart grew as cold as the arctics
|
| From an era where my state’s death toll is the largest
|
| And I’m still losing them to the tomb and multiple charges
|
| Yeah, he ain’t know that the cats he serving
|
| Had been plotting on his stacks since he last observed 'em
|
| You could almost hear his casket urging «relax!»
|
| Then they swerve through the trap in that black suburban
|
| And this is when a normal day becomes the active version
|
| HKs lift your face like a plastic surgeon
|
| He ain’t get to let his plastic serve him
|
| It’s too late for that, no headstone dog
|
| We ain’t got no cake for that
|
| No high-priced coffin with the brass on the crown
|
| Just a plot with fresh grass and a plaque on the ground
|
| The angel of death’s here and he came for his reckoning
|
| I pray to the Saviour from the manger in Bethlehem
|
| Cause they betrayed Him on the creep and tied Him
|
| But He still turned His cheek when they beat and tried Him
|
| And His niggas said, «JESUS if it’s beef we ridin'»
|
| Then His closest homie Pete denied Him
|
| You ain’t read about Him?
|
| He even seen the faces of the peeps
|
| That He healed in the streets up in the people crowdin'
|
| Now the Greeks and the Hebrews doubt Him
|
| Desired Him to die they hung Him high
|
| And threw some thieves beside Him
|
| And He still kept the peace inside Him
|
| Lift His head to the sky and said
|
| «They dead LORD please revive 'em.»
|
| Yeah, see I can’t speak for you
|
| I can only speak on what I know
|
| What I’ve seen, what I’ve experienced you feel me
|
| I ain’t wanna live, I ain’t want God but here I am, haha
|
| It’s cause He’s real!
|
| For real!
|
| GOD over Money Forever Mobbin' yeah! |