Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Killa, artist - Nipsey Hussle. Album song Mailbox Money, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: All Money In No Money Out
Song language: English
Killa |
My AC on, my ceiling cracked, smoking killa |
Light my backwood, count 100 racks, smoking killa |
I pull up in that black on black, smoking killa |
My AC on, my ceiling cracked, smoking killa |
I wake up in this state of mind, like sky’s the limit |
My niggas said you crossed the line, well I’m gon' kill you |
I’m focused on a million cash, that’s the vision |
Speeding and I’m finna crash, that’s the feeling |
Until my tires burn, though, and my wheels give out |
These backwoods burn slow, like my bills dish out |
When them people come for you, they gone steal yo house |
Put yo name on them papers, they gone fill you out |
Couple moves from yo quota, come fuck up yo count |
Have you thinking bounce back when you out |
Look, I’m tip-toeing over traps |
Tight-roping at a height, you fall you knowing it’s a wrap |
But I’m gon' keep this balance, cause it ain’t no turning back |
Ain’t no looking down, my niggas ain’t concerned with that |
More concerned with cash |
More concerned with running laps, running rap |
Getting rich, then run it back |
My AC on, my ceiling cracked, smoking killa |
Light my backwood, count 100 racks, smoking killa |
I pull up in that black on black, smoking killa |
My AC on, my ceiling cracked, smoking killa |
What’s the deal, nigga? |
What’s the deal, nigga? |
How you feel? |
Now you know this shit is real, nigga |
Once upon a time was in the field, nigga |
War time, really kill or kill, nigga |
Gunfire, shooting out civills, nigga |
Young, wild, police gon' deal with you |
Not too many still living |
So I gotta paint it real vivid |
I’m surprised that I’m here, nigga |
Naw, I’m blind to my fears, nigga |
I shine like De Beers, nigga |
And fly like a Lear, nigga |
Climb like the stairs, nigga |
Spend time out in Paris, nigga |
Come from where the grannies gotta bury niggas |
And money make these hoes wanna marry niggas |
My AC on, my ceiling cracked, smoking killa |
Light my backwood, count 100 racks, smoking killa |
I pull up in that black on black, smoking killa |
My AC on, my ceiling cracked, smoking killa |
I think about them late nights |
Drive to Vegas across the state lines |
Finally did it, it just take time |
Since I was ye' high, my only goal was get this cake right |
And what they say, right |
You on your own, it’s what you make life |
You was out there everyday, right? |
Tryna push foreign, tryna eat steak, right? |
Put some hunnids in yo safe, right? |
Hang some flat screens in yo place, right? |
Life insurance, just in case, right? |
Gave something to the lawyer, just in case, right? |
Sitting solo, first class, on a straight flight |
I remember waiting on my day like… |
Everyday I’m on this paper chase, like |
Stand between these buildings 'til the daylight |
Wiggle through the prisons and the grave sites |
Then you finally get it, and you take flight |
My AC on, my ceiling cracked, smoking killa |
Light my backwood, count 100 racks, smoking killa |
I pull up in that black on black, smoking killa |
My AC on, my ceiling cracked, smoking killa |