Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Street Chains, artist - Lil Wayne. Album song FWA, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 02.07.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Young Money
Song language: English
Street Chains |
| Straight from the East side |
| Blood gang, we heavy |
| Fuck nigga, dare me |
| I turn into Freddy |
| My fingers machetes |
| Trap house jumpin' like Monta Ellis |
| We trap out the 'telly when we outta town |
| Uzi on deck |
| Phone ringin' off the hook, bitch, that’s the plug |
| Ocean view bedroom, baby |
| See through showers and I just put some fish in my tub |
| Hold up, I ain’t playin' |
| Niggas say they rich, I say «And?» |
| Same old song, I ain’t dance |
| Heater on my waist, hotter than a frying pan |
| If you don’t see what I’m sayin' |
| I give your ass a fuckin' eye exam |
| I ain’t playin' |
| Guns in my hands, I ain’t prayin' |
| Fireman spittin' venom, Spiderman, I’m enhanced |
| I’m at peace, joggin' pants cost at least about a grand |
| I’m advanced like Japan |
| Got more sand than Sudan, Lord |
| And life ain’t nothin' but a long day |
| And tomorrow ain’t nothin' but a long way away |
| You know that haters come in all sizes, all shapes, 'kay |
| That’s why I had to get a little more trunk space |
| Got insurance on the trap house, Allstate |
| Got the trap house pumpin' like a heart rate |
| Got the trap house pumpin' like a 808 |
| Boom, like a 808 |
| I could fly around that bitch, need a tarmac |
| I just landed in Cuba, need a straw hat |
| I gotta get the raw back, I need a format |
| I put the shit on horseback and start my own ranch |
| From where they don’t talk smack, they just snort smack |
| I’ll turn your head to an open hot sauce pack |
| I tell the bitch some true lies and some false facts |
| Boy, I’m drownin' in the syrup like a short stack |
| Ooh, 187, 211 |
| Hockey mask on, Wayne Gretzky |
| Stunt my ass off, chain heavy |
| Your bitch get passed on, chain letter |
| Train smoker, smoke plain, never |
| Had a date with the Devil |
| Then I changed schedules |
| I’m a trained killer |
| Like a paid killer |
| Better yet, Saddam Hussein nephew |
| Nigga, no love |
| That’s from the bottom of my heart |
| I pull up and paint your whole fucking block red |
| Then get out of my car and admire my art |
| Then smile at my thoughts |
| My bitch from Atlanta got eyes like a hawk |
| She see why I’m a boss |
| I just got another speeding ticket on the Bugatti |
| While it was parked |
| Now I don’t wan' talk, bitch, I don’t wan' talk |
| Lean in my punch, I decided to spar |
| Anybody want war? |
| I’m excited to start |
| Get indicted tomorrow |
| I be out by the morn |
| Before I even yawn |
| Stay in ya lane, I remind these lil' boys |
| This is victory lane, now do I need a horn? |
| The struggle is real, and the Bible too long |
| I’m writing my will, and I’m typing my won’ts |
| Lord, please |
| Kilos, OZ’s |
| 'Cause my bitch high class, she like Pinot and cheese |
| I dropped out of class so I’m zero degrees |
| I can out-think a shrink, she can deep throat a tree |
| I can hijack a Brinks, so my sweet soda pink |
| I’m a freak show to freaks |
| I’m spitting these bars, hope my bar tab is cheap |
| I’m a hard man to reach |
| I’m newborn and deceased |
| I’m too hard for this beat |
| I’m the heart and the beat |
| The Chong and the Cheech |
| My blunt long as a speech |
| Roach look like a leech |
| I’m too long for the brief |
| I’m too wrong for the priest |
| With this chrome on your teeth |
| That get blown out your cheek |
| Like my bitch mixed, like Long Island Tea |
| She don’t hide her figure, she don’t hide her feet |
| I’m the head nigga, like Prodigy |
| And bitch, I’ma shine, like Connery |
| Yeah |
| And life ain’t nothin' but a long day |
| Tomorrow ain’t nothin' but a long way, away |