Lyrics Borsalino - MZ Boom Bap, Ryler Smith

Borsalino

Its high, predicamental
Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up
This mind is richer than pride
If I die
Know I was young soldier
Its high predicamental
Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up
It shines when midnight is time
If I die then the second eye
Of moon shall watch over me
Bust it
Crush it, cuss it dust it
Yo style is rubbish
Brother, you gon' need to watch
What this child gon publish
Ruggish, hunnid instrumentals Im budging
Trusting nobody on sublets
Who faking jaxx on a budget
I stalk the public
On my stubbornness ish
Who got the rock
Who staying humble, in this shit
Most niggas go with the flick
Slitting they wrist when they flip
Fake niggas holla
On zones, no shit
On flip phones, they trynna get into ya home
I dug my bone deep beneath
Of the feet you harbor
Searching for my soul
I’ms till breathing right thru this armor
My father I keep on going harder
A king who farmer
Not an informer but former
Performer who not from california
Swiss blooded
Inhaling right off a doobie
Yet I get the looks
Cause the African blood run thru me
My heart pump a flu me numb
Heating up like aluminum
Who crew you run?
Confidants mixing booze
With a shooter gun
Its high, predicamental
Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up
This mind is richer than pride
If I die
Know I was young soldier
Its high predicamental
Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up
It shines when midnight is time
If I die then the second eye
Of moon shall watch over me
I rock the treble and bass
Yo check the middle function
Gusting the dust off
With filthy face on the funk when
We stomping
When the spell hits
I’m speaking fists
My style flips, forever farewell
When setting dibs
It getting mixed in the circle
We form a whole new triangle
My confidants and I know to handle
We making moves, ready
Up in casinos
Wearing fancy yellow chinos
Rock a fly fedora by Borsalino
Drinking a cappuccino
My style be lethal
Most niggas try to repeat
But what comes around
Goes around
So keep ya old recepits
The spitter of hordes of flames
Watch me burn em in flames
If living in hideous
And in irreversible choices I’d go insane
They getting slain
When fucking it up on aim
You get it right or get it wrong
My nigga that is the game
So gimme the mic
And lemme give you the sword
Sticking it into your cords
Crushing heaviest of matter
With metaphors
Of course
It’s time
Its high, predicamental
Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up
This mind is richer than pride
If I die
Know I was young soldier
Its high predicamental
Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up
It shines when midnight is time
If I die then the second eye
Of moon shall watch over me