| 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
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| Speeding and I’m finna crash, that’s the feeling
|
| Until my tires burn, though, and my wheels give out
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| These backwoods burn slow, like my bills dish out
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| When them people come for you, they gone steal yo house
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| 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
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| Tight-roping at a height, you fall you knowing it’s a wrap
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| But I’m gon' keep this balance, cause it ain’t no turning back
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| Ain’t no looking down, my niggas ain’t concerned with that
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| More concerned with cash
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| More concerned with running laps, running rap
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| 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
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| 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…
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| Everyday I’m on this paper chase, like
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| Stand between these buildings 'til the daylight
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| 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 |