Lyrics Famiglia - Nyck Caution, Meechy Darko

Famiglia

Yeah, my famiglia real G’s so you never hear 'em
They just go about their business, never leave a witness
Y’all would rather post it on the 'Gram to maintain an image
Shit is ridiculous
I’m so appalled, this is no one’s fault, but everybody’s responsible
They all shitted on the kid when he had a little dream
But they love him when he’s doin' the impossible
You dudes is comical
Ayy, yeah
Ayy, ayy, yeah
Get that motherfucker (Yeah)
Yeah
My brother told me «Go easy on those guys» (Guys)
They gon' have it harder when they see the kiddo rise (See the kiddo rise)
Beatrix, I’m gaugin' out they eyes (Eyes)
Every time these verses are reprised (Yeah)
Kill 'em with success and they’ll never have a clue to how they died (Died,
died)
Think about it
You ain’t really mad at me, you bitches mad at yourself
That shit is bad for your health
But fuck it (Fuck it, go and drag 'em to Hell)
You a selfish motherfucker, only pass to yourself (Only pass to yourself)
Maybe I should tone it down a little, ask for some help (I should ask for some
help)
But there’s two types of people in this world (Yeah)
Those who gotta ask (Ask), and those who make it happen themself
And I refuse to be a bitch like you, I’m not a bit like you
I’ve been stabbed in the back so many times that it slip right through
Life’s a bitch, but every dog has his day (Yeah)
Wait until that bitch bite you
Yeah, my famiglia real G’s so you never hear 'em
'Cause they be low as fuck, try me, come and test your luck
I be tryna chill, but the problems always level up
Feel like Meadow’s dad, venting to a memo pad
When it ends, does it really all cut to black?
'Cause if it does I hope the afterlife will cut us slack (Slack)
I’ve been to Hell and back (Back)
Already walking dead (Dead)
Feel like a motherfuckin' zombie
So much pussy I’m denying bitches
They get with us, then they lie with us
Big stone, wide eyes see my diamonds glisten
Hustle harder than Tracy Morgan in the '90s, nigga
Gutter grimy like a '90s nigga
Doggystyle, the right position
Kiss the girls, make 'em cry
Tellin' more lies than a politician
Got the gas with me in the Trump Towers
Burn the shit down if the nigga win it
Only sold my soul 'cause I tried to flip it, huh
The pussy mine, use my tongue to write initial, huh
I take your flow, diss you with it, I ain’t fuckin' with it
Say «Mister, mister, please give me some of that, I need a fixin'»
We get high as fuck, then we fight and fuck
It’s like Guns N' Roses with the Twisted Sister
Eyes dilated 'cause this 'cid is vicious
Got a queen kissin' on my sex pistol
I’m in the Gucci, Snoopy, fully lucid, death grippin'
Drunk drivin', swervin' left with it
Feel like the only rapper who can match his magic madness is probably Mathers
Bipolar disorder, man, I might be manic
I battle myself for practice, survival tactics, I adapt it
I asked God to show my way, but map, He never handed
Satan’s guestlist
Fuckin' Rihanna in Bahamas top of my checklist
Turquoise settin' blood diamonds
Die for my necklace
Only-child syndrome, selfish
Trapped in my mind, doin' a sentence
Shit, somebody help him (Help him, please, help him, help him)
Shit, somebody help him (Help him, please)