| Warning, the men you are about to hear
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| You shouldn’t have access to, the subject matters
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| Individuals on this c.d., is unleased
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| Into the public, may cause a nationwide in power
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| What up, you just started up a legacy
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| Survival for the hopeful, chapters full of recipes
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| Remember this feeling, when a good nigga is mentioned
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| Close your mouth, if you can’t help his conditions
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| I hustled, till the pain became funny
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| Muscle any damn thing, just to gain us money
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| Us money, how could I blame a living soul
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| The grind called on me, like you could be getting mo'
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| So I hit the slab, like Cab Shorty and Bino
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| Seven days, 24 like Harra’s Casino
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| Got a daughter, on the way
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| Down to this last, little quarter of the yay
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| Hurry up, you’re acting funny all day
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| But I never had my eggs in one batch
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| That’s like thinking, they just made one gat
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| In every crew, there’s at least one rat
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| Who, wanna bet a hundred G’s on that
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| Yeah man, I got the bootleg copy ya heard me
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| I listen to them niggaz man
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| My hustle game is just surprise, you heard me
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| I stopped smoking that dirt, all I smoke is that purple now
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| Ya heard me, can’t get me none of that
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| My love life is dust, wake up getting it
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| Thug what the fuss, sitting here missing it
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| Every moment without it, moving to an exponent
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| I just think on the sets, and many threats that want it
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| Depressed, at distance
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| I travel like my family, no existence
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| Until I get that call from my baby, like tonight
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| And she like I know what you doing, you in the studio right-right
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| Tell her I love her, jump up off the jack
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| To the swamps, where I could dump off this crack
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| I’ma make a lump sum, off of that
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| I call it parallel parking, it’ll make you ok come on back
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| I might drop me a solo, I might change my name
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| The cops calling us polo, it’s Mike of the game
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| Knee deep in it, where’s the devotion
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| And remember, jealousy is a wasted emotion
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| Yeah man look shit, we all gotta pass you know
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| I told my niggaz, look I’m engaged to you
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| But look, I’m married to these fucking streets
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| That’s what I love, these fucking streets
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| Straight from the cracks, of Flay Street
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| When the sound of breaks squeak, will have you hopping gates to the next street
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| Addicts coming for crack, and they’ll pay you on next week
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| Nigga I want it now, I want the coupe and the Porsche jeep
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| I’m doper than when niggaz, putting balloons
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| The scent was too loud, I couldn’t hide the drawer in the room
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| And I’m comfortable, so when I jab I connect
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| And that dirty money, kept a nigga clean so fresh
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| And thanks I’m giving, 'fore the streets started calling O’s butterballs
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| Vick’s want a slice, but gotta wait till I cut it dog
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| My day and night time, gig have a gunning ball
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| And mostly keep heat, not turning the oven off
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| Hot pitching cool, some of New Orleans
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| With hood honorable mentions, and everyone of us balling
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| My threads real cost, and this a guard got still pause
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| And when the dial got made, I feel lost
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| Warning, the men you are about to hear
|
| You shouldn’t have access to, the subject matters
|
| Individuals on this c.d., is unleased
|
| Into the public, may cause a nationwide in power |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Press Play, artist - Fiend. Album song The Addiction (Chopped & Screwed), in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп