Lyrics Myths - Joey Trap, God

Myths

I remember sellin' all that rock
I remember postin' on that block
I ain’t have no roof over my head
Still ain’t got no roof, I drop my top
Pull up, I swerve
No cup, sip syrup
I shoot 3's, no Curry
My bitch knees, they hurt, huh
Niggas put some bands on my head
Y’all should get refunded for your bread
Make her pray to god before bed
Then pass the bitch to God and catch red
Aye, say some shit on me cause I’m the Kloud God
Instagram @kloudgod
All this soundcloud rappin' prolly cause I’m, cause I’m Kloud God
Ball until I fall out
I just found a rap game and fucked it till she tapped out
Fuck that broke shit, don’t need no broke bitch, she need her own shit
That I don’t spit unless you throw me a couple bones
She like, «Hol' up, I might pull up»
My necklace, yellow diamonds, I’m a sensi
Oh shit, I’m on my old shit, I’m on my old shit
My froze wrist, my momma knows this, she said
I’m skrtin', but that not my whip, that shit is stolen
That’s not my whip, that shit is stolen
I remember sellin' all that rock
I remember postin' on that block
I ain’t have no roof over my head
Still ain’t got no roof, I drop my top
Pull up, I swerve
No cup, sip syrup
I shoot 3's, no Curry
My bitch knees, they hurt, huh
Niggas put some bands on my head
Y’all should get refunded for your bread
Make her pray to god before bed
Then pass the bitch to God and catch red
I remember standin' on that money block
Movin' packs, tryin' not to get knocked
Middle fingers to the cops, they the opps
I got a stove and a fork and a pot
Yeah, I cook that work
That ain’t OG, you smoke that durb
When I’m in ATL, I smoke that
Run up on me, you gon' get murked
I got a full clip full of hollow tips and the red dot
Clientele and a lot of work, the block red hot
12 kicked in the door, now we got a dead cop
Aim for the body, if I miss, I catch a headshot
Now he gone, I ain’t did nothin' wrong
I got so much work, hell, I need a fuckin' clone
And no, bitch, I ain’t cocky, I’m in my zone
If work ain’t what you talkin', don’t hit my phone
I remember sellin' all that rock
I remember postin' on that block
I ain’t have no roof over my head
Still ain’t got no roof, I drop my top
Pull up, I swerve
No cup, sip syrup
I shoot 3's, no Curry
My bitch knees, they hurt, huh
Niggas put some bands on my head
Y’all should get refunded for your bread
Make her pray to god before bed
Then pass the bitch to God and catch red