| Ride to the sunset, they ain’t beat me to the punch yet
|
| I send new music like drunk texts, then forget I made ‘em like drunk bets
|
| My momma friends be like «girl, your son blessed»
|
| They like «'Q whatchu doin?» |
| I’m having fun, yes
|
| I slept less but them nights out was much needed
|
| Ain’t it funny how you suck and I succeeded?
|
| I left home like cut leases
|
| Just to make a statement still writin' a tough thesis
|
| Young genius, down to Earth but what I’m swingin' is striking Venus
|
| I wanna touch a couple mil before I touch Jesus
|
| And that’s real, tell me how I should feel
|
| Cool chick, cool spot, where better for us to chill huh?
|
| You still can’t believe it’s all real huh?
|
| Have a drink, hope it don’t spill ma
|
| Enjoy yourself
|
| Seems like every place I been I done seen so many things
|
| But nothin' seems to be the same
|
| I’m right where I wanna be
|
| This is perfect for my day, to make me just feel this way
|
| I’m prolly cooler than I need to be, I’m prolly cooler than I need to be
|
| I’m prolly cooler than I need to be, I’m prolly cooler than I need to be
|
| What kinda mood you in? |
| Party to throw
|
| A few gon' slide that’s bringing molly to blow
|
| I be gnarly fo sho, fly as Marty could go
|
| They be all in attendance, never tardy before, oh
|
| Fake folk tryna sneak by me
|
| I’m backfloating no beach by me
|
| Name come up, bout Quentin they speak highly
|
| Woodstock can’t peace by me
|
| Tire burn when the street open
|
| Ask me how I got it I just tell ‘em it’s East Oakland
|
| Wanna catch up, boi? |
| Keep hopin'
|
| I run shit like my feet swollen
|
| And that’s real, tell me how I should feel
|
| Cool chick, cool spot, where better for us to chill huh?
|
| You still can’t believe it’s all real huh?
|
| Have a drink, hope it don’t spill ma
|
| Enjoy yourself
|
| It was all so simple then
|
| Check it, beat blastin', they like, «aww, he rappin'»
|
| A minute later they like «aww, he snappin'»
|
| Makin' music they head lose it complete madness
|
| Partners turn to pedestrians I just keep passin'
|
| And I keep asking like kids in a toy store
|
| Still waiting for my answer it’s probly behind this door that I been
|
| Tryna open, I’m just hopin' my key’ll work
|
| My talent like a UFO, wonder who gon' see it first
|
| I’m on a bubble waiting for my dream to burst
|
| Even though you didn’t I knew that this thing would work
|
| Been bullshitting I need to check on my granny more
|
| There for me no matter what, that’s what I got family for
|
| Thinkin' more than usual now, every day is crucial now
|
| I’m just tryna fly my nigga, why you tryna shoot me down?
|
| Still fuckin with my niggas, all the ones I grew up ‘round
|
| You don’t like me I don’t like you, at least you know it’s mutual now
|
| Sad to say, where I’m from, a human life ain’t shit to us
|
| Fuck the legs you on my nigga, every day’s a cliff to us
|
| Hard for me to pick and trust, hoes be tryna get to us
|
| If Rosa couldn’t fuck would make you think you get to sit with us?
|
| Long day, hours slip away come take a trip with us
|
| Hit the lights, press record another magic trick to us
|
| Hate it when I start complain' trippin bout the storm I’m in
|
| Got a call lost for words, I guess I’m losin' more than friends
|
| Never did I know my way, I just had to trust the map
|
| Now I can’t trust TV, reality, fuck is that?
|
| Talkin to a friend still tryna cope with a brother’s death
|
| Pretty smile, happy girl, because he gone and up and left
|
| Nothin' left, prayin' that her pain’ll soon come to rest
|
| My nigga smoke a pound a month, he tired of this fuckin stress
|
| Free my nigga Rojo, he dealin' with a buncha mess
|
| Now I’m pickin' up like wind, life is just a summer dress
|
| Had to get this off my chest, talkin' on some urgent shit
|
| I ain’t actin' funny baby, really I’m just swervin' bitch
|
| On 5−9 that’s word to Tick, back playin on Saturdays
|
| Smooth off the endo, I’m Del Lindo as Satchel Paige
|
| This little light of mine is glowin' ain’t it?
|
| All of the people talkin' to me ain’t speakin my language
|
| Bottoms up, hors d’oeuvre with a olive cup
|
| 305 me and four women havin' a tropic brunch
|
| Hittin' ‘em like antlers, haters wanna stop and hunt
|
| Winter time I’m flyin south, you out with a flock of ducks
|
| My partna say he wanna move but he ain’t got nowhere to go
|
| I told that nigga, I ain’t got no job but I’m still chasin' dough
|
| I’m being honest, no comic but still flip made it
|
| Everywhere I go I see temptation a bitch ain’t it?
|
| Everywhere I go I see temptation a bitch ain’t it?
|
| It was all so simple then
|
| Let the record play, let the record play
|
| Let the record play, let the record play
|
| Just let the record play
|
| It was all so simple then
|
| Rated Oakland |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Cooler , by - GQ. Song from the album Rated Oakland, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп