Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Closing Up Shop, artist - French Montana. Album song Coke Boys, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 12.04.2012
Record label: Coke Boys
Song language: English
Closing Up Shop |
| Closing up shop, and locking doors |
| Runnin up lost in someone’s room |
| Silence so lighty you go dim |
| Bombs are going off inside your chest |
| If it feels like the end |
| Coke boy, Montana, we up in here |
| What they talkin' about? |
| I’m Coke Boy, Montana, we up in here |
| What they talkin' about? |
| I’m Coke Boy, Montana, we in this bitch |
| What they talkin' about? |
| I’m Coke Boy, Montana, we in this bitch |
| What they talkin' about? |
| Bombs are giong off inside your chest |
| It feels like the end |
| Custom made shoes but I dont trust a soul |
| They try and nail me to the cross but I’m across the globe |
| I’m talkin' twenty M’s, or twenty in the pen |
| Winners never quit, quitters never win |
| Coming out the bottle, you don’t know the half |
| I’m famous now my signature call the autograph |
| From the most hated, to the most loved |
| See these red diamonds, nigga that’s cold blood |
| Hugs turn to waste, killers turn to dates |
| Niggas hate to love, haters love to hate |
| As-salâm 'aleïkoum, Inch Allah |
| Please tell my story right (if I gotta die) |
| See them diamonds flashin' come and catch the photo |
| High off life but I’m sittin' solo |
| Bitches fall out, real niggas fall in |
| Sharks in them waters dare you stick your toes in |
| Tryin' find God cause they gave me Hell |
| Road paved in them hundreds, that’s a paper trail |
| Chin Chilla dime move but the coupe loakin' |
| Absorbed all this bullshit let the truth soak in |
| Self made never punched a clock |
| Before I hug a pig, I’mma hug the block |
| From the blocks where the young niggas hit they vein |
| To tourin' out the country and now we switchin' planes |
| They try and kill my mind and my body |
| Coke Boys, new illuminati |
| When it comes to stuntin' I’m like money man meech |
| Brought my city with me and we coming in the fleet |
| And now I’m gettin' richer they don’t want me in these streets |
| I’m thinkin' fuck an album sell, we sold a hundred bricks this week |
| Thousand grams of crack, take it to the table |
| Bag it all up, take it to the label |
| And tell em distrubute it Im gettin' cake ridiculous |
| Right like a frog jumpin through the traffic ribbitin' |
| They tellin' me to turn down, they said I need ritalin |
| Ballin' like I’m Jordan or assists from Scottie Pippen' |
| In and out the flows, crossing over like I’m dribblin' |
| Runnin' laps round the raps, I’m tire like Michelin |
| Started out with Tip and them, but that wasn’t it for him |
| Yellow gold cuban diamonds blue like Michigan |
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