| I’m from the jungle, lions, apes and gorillas, lions the police
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| Nigga we the apes and gorillas, go ape and gorilla
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| Boy don’t turn your face on a killer
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| Fuck the system, man, we going back to racism, nigga
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| Look, the department suffer fakeism, nigga
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| Black police try not to notice, like they ain’t killing niggas or hate killing
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| niggas
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| See a million bodies, I done shed a thousand tears
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| Niggas drink to a thousand niggas, been selling rocks a thousand years
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| Two time felon nigga, one more like a thousand years
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| And the average pussy nigga out here ain’t gone ride with his
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| He gon' switch up, he gon' fold, he ain’t holdin' shit back
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| He only got a year back and now he can’t forget that
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| You done sold your fucking soul for 400 days
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| Niggas got their kid starving for some fucking J’s
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| Life too short, better not get caught up in your fucking ways
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| I be feeling like Phil Jackson, all these fucking plays
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| I’m just riding through my city, getting blazed, in the rain
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| I been stressing, feel like I’m a couple days from insane
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| Don’t know what’s got into me, I just been saving the pain
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| The devil tryna' enter me, I just might let him into me
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| But I know when he finna' leave that that’s gon' be the end of me
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| And I won’t let that finish me, cause I got too much energy
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| I be right back in effect like I just got a injury
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| Pourin' up that purple happiness, it give me energy
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| Sip your happiness, forget your problems, that’s the remedy
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| Sippin' Activis straight out the bottle, shit’s so good to me
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| I be leanin', I be smoking, poppin' beans then I be rollin'
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| I been steamin', so we rollin, hop in Beamers and we rollin'
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| Pull up on your block with glizzies and them beams and we be blowin'
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| We ain’t shooting for no reason, clear the scene when we blowin'
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| Then we high, in the sky, tellin' fo’nem 'bout the story
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| Got a lot of niggas gone that I been knowin' since we was shortys
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| That alone just made me stronger, got my chrome though I ain’t worried, boy
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| Posted on that curve, boy, early off the syrup, boy
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| Chill, if you don’t know me, give a fuck 'bout what you heard, boy
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| Niggas see me when I fly past like, «There go Herb, boy»
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| Rappers wanna' know the way that I play with the words, boy
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| 33 up in the clip like I play with that Byrd, boy
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| And niggas know that Lil Bibby my bro got the shit for the low on the verse, boy
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| Real nigga shit, we ten year niggas bitch so imagine the numbers for Herb, boy
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| And we go ham every month on the first, junky walk up and just empty her purse
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| Don’t work with feelings my money come first
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| And no, I’m not a hypocrite so therefore, I don’t got to a church
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| God still with me even though I’m out here doing my dirt
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| It’s a lot of times when I know I coulda' been threw in a hearse
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| So I’m dropping 4s in my soda every time I’m doing my verse
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| Please do not try to act crazy my nigga cause Rugers’ll burst
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| They ready, they on it, they aiming at niggas, my shooters so thirst
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| G Herbo my name, so a pussy, I can’t be
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| I hang with them menaces, free Jays and free Maneski
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| If it was still slavery I know the mastas' a hang me
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| Cause I only respect my momma and granny and aunties
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| I’m just a young nigga, finna' go from the blow
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| And I’m still in the streets so you know I will take blow for a show
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| Just let me know, as long as don’t nobody search at the door, cause you know
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| how we roll
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| If anyone try to act like they want smoke then the club will be closed
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| No Limit’s don’t play around, all they know blow
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| Like they play with they nose and they taking them souls |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Four Minutes of Hell, Pt. 4 , by - G Herbo. Song from the album Pistol P Project, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп