Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Who Raised You? , by - JL. Song from the album The Devil Hates Sundays, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 24.09.2020
Record label: Strange
Song language: English
Who Raised You? |
| New day, same boss |
| Airport, take off |
| Gang gang, swank sauce |
| Still beat your motherfucking brakes off |
| Ear for, ratchet, when I think of me being that kid |
| Posted up, nobody posting up what we had did |
| On the porch with bangers with torches, ain’t gotta dab rig |
| Doing the most is what I could do at least |
| Moving like I decided not to renew a lease |
| Picture me rolling view at laguna beach |
| Puffing a Cuban, giving someone the Big Kahuna speech |
| Holding my crotch 'cause of how hard it was |
| Hood that we was in, none of us had a car garage |
| And a mirage, did not realize it was sabotage |
| Believe in boogieman but knew mama was Santa Claus |
| We don’t know all the commandments |
| But we memorized rap catalogs |
| We know Biggie Smalls crack list |
| Savages, catalyst, ain’t that a bitch |
| My Kush get work by skit school |
| Graduated to the penthouse with the sick view |
| Gotta play the game or it plays you |
| They don’t make 'em like this, who raised you? |
| Who? |
| who raised you? |
| They don’t make 'em like this, who raised you? |
| Who? |
| who raised you? |
| They don’t make 'em like this |
| My cut skin work by skit school |
| Graduated to the penthouse with the sick view |
| Gotta play the game or it plays you |
| They don’t make 'em like this, who raised you? |
| Ayy bro, let’s pray, don’t stress |
| Stay low, press they flow |
| Just a process, play more chess |
| Peso checks, bankroll fresh |
| If you don’t hear me, then this mic will |
| Made it and afraid to be clearly living to die real |
| Sit in cells, may never know how a flight feel |
| On a red-eye heated, some nigga got on his light still |
| Just another day in a rapper’s life |
| Fakes ruin vibes, dreams ruin my nap at night |
| The brakes ruin the ride, the snakes ruin the fruit |
| But nothing ruin my appetite |
| I don’t hear me and anyone rap alike |
| Bouncing like signals off of a satellite |
| Wouldn’t be this high if I was scared of heights |
| I want the paper not after bragging rights |
| Throw snake eyes with a pair of dice— twice |
| Turning this paradox into paradise |
| Wanna put us in a box then of course |
| Fuck a box, jail, casket, or pandoras |
| Bitch |
| My cut skin work by skit school |
| Graduated to the penthouse with the sick view |
| Gotta play the game or it plays you |
| They don’t make 'em like this, who raised you? |
| Who? |
| who raised you? |
| They don’t make 'em like this, who raised you? |
| Who? |
| who raised you? |
| They don’t make 'em like this |
| My cut skin work by skit school |
| Graduated to the penthouse with the sick view |
| Gotta play the game or it plays you |
| They don’t make 'em like this, who raised you? |