| City of death homicide on every corner
|
| Eight in the mornin' I’m at the mall tryna buy some Jordans
|
| Call me a hoarder tennis shoes everywhere
|
| But when you sellin' coke you don’t have a care
|
| I’m talkin Peruvian pure coke white as Cher
|
| Got it in the trunk like a spare tire
|
| Money on his head that’s murder for hire
|
| I seen a fiend sell his soul for a dime rock
|
| Then he came right back and sold his son’s XBox
|
| I pray to the Lord this shit gotta stop
|
| Everybody walkin' around with tools on repo
|
| Speakin' in code, tryna get the line on the kilos
|
| They tappin' phones and tryna give us to RICO
|
| I’m tryna get rich and give back to the people
|
| CEO, no nigga you ain’t my equal
|
| See before I can see the fake in you
|
| Cause you never act like a real nigga do
|
| Niggas talkin' to knocks throwin' surprise parties
|
| But we ready for the beef nigga Arbie’s
|
| Livewire MC you see us on them Harley’s
|
| Yeah, it was me (nord?) and bang bang
|
| Nigga tryna make a mil a day
|
| Lyin' on my side, in my hand there’s a grenade
|
| On the corner grindin' since the tenth grade
|
| Cause I don’t like to dream about gettin' paid
|
| Cause I don’t like to dream about gettin' paid
|
| 40 on my side in my hand there’s a grenade
|
| Still sellin' dope, since the tenth grade
|
| Cause I don’t like to dream about, gettin' paid
|
| Cause I don’t like to dream about, gettin' paid
|
| Money on my mind, landlord at the door
|
| Tryna kick a nigga out cause I’m sellin' dope
|
| Import export money in the transaction
|
| Bangers on me always killas in my fuckin' faction
|
| You niggas savin' bitches like Action Jackson
|
| These hoes settin' niggas up and ask 'em what happened
|
| He gotta have it my nigga and he just can’t kick it
|
| Therefore, his digits is limited
|
| Livin life wicked tryna touch a meal ticket
|
| Get it on the streets then send it to the niggas in prison
|
| Cause I can see you fake niggas through this tunnel vision
|
| Disloyal see a nigga shot and then his blood boil
|
| In the kitchen my mama cookin' it to the oil
|
| Get the birds cross state, to the Georgetown (?)
|
| Now I’m in the Porsche, it feel like 500 horses
|
| Now I’m in the Porsche, it feel like 500 horses |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Dreamin, artist - J. Stalin. Album song Return of the Body Snatchers, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп