| Ain’t something wrong
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| I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
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| But I’m in a drug zone
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| Relax your mind and let your conscience free
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| And I’ma tell you how a player used to stack his G’s
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| Used to hit the strips with the fuckin' clips in my pocket
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| Mind on mail, so change the powder into rockets
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| Came up off an ozone, now I’m pushing boulders
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| Off of doja on the flame with the rest of the soldiers
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| Flipped my first bucket at the age of 14
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| A four-door Nova, thought my shit was too clean
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| A young hustler tryna be like them G’s
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| My homeboy Fat Rat, The Stone and Tim B
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| Can’t forget about my homie Beeda Weeda
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| We used to strike the buckets all the way to Cupertino
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| Hot sunny day, man, the block was scorching
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| Fools in them drop point-O's straight torching
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| Sacks on top of sacks to get their buzz on
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| And by the way, young player, you in the drug zone
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| Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
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| I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
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| But I’m in a drug zone
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| Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
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| I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
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| But I’m in a drug zone
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| Hustling over chillin' 'cause it ain’t no time to kick it
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| Never been a baller but I’mtryna stack a ticket
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| Chopping down my O’s, put my money on froze
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| Slammin' Cadillac doors and on them multiple stoves
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| It’s just a dream, but dreams could be reality
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| Put it in perspective, collective and check the salary
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| Mandatory that I pop at you bustas, could never stop it
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| Dwellin' in the lab and on the daily tryna chop it
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| Monopolizing, enterprising, now in 1995 we’re realizing
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| That we got to do for self, so self is independent
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| Stacking up all the pay and making wealth and feeling splendid
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| Making G’s, nigga please
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| I used to hit the blocks to sell my rocks and roll up the green leaves
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| Now I’m all about my fetti
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| On the other side of the game and game tight and moving steady
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| Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
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| I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
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| But I’m in a drug zone
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| Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
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| I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
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| But I’m in a drug zone
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| Yeah, I’ma send that out to my homeboy Travy Lo, to my young homie Pierre,
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| to my OG Potna Rondo, to all the fallen soldiers, mayne
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| One love, that’s real
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| Now fools think they can jump in the game
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| And be an overnight star with money and fame
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| I had to work for my status, got the baddest apparatus
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| If you’re paying your dues, then fa sho, you can have this
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| Time’ll tell, you might as well
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| Come to the L-A-double B and check your mail
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| 'Cause niggas be clocking their grip but coming up and stacking G’s
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| Pulling up in the lab and on the daily with them R-A-P's
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| Please take yourself and see and feel the beat
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| 'Cause the flavor don’t stop now, us players gon' clock now
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| Represent the game because the game don’t stop
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| So you got to get your paper 'til it’s time to pop
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| Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
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| I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
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| But I’m in a drug zone
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| Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
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| I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
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| But I’m in a drug zone |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Ain't Something Wrong , by - JT The Bigga Figga. Song from the album Dwellin' In Tha Labb, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп