| You know it’s grind even when I sleep
|
| Like teeth
|
| Ice cold bangers, the beach
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| Summer heat
|
| Told you dawgs that problems is coming
|
| We Freddy Cruger on crabs, we wanna sleep
|
| Slipping outta position, then smash on 'em
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| You end up miss and put cash on 'em
|
| Soldiers don’t have to roll deep
|
| 25 hours, 8 days a week
|
| Motherfuckers, make room for these starving
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| Monsters
|
| Live in the plot, tasting roofs, yeah
|
| We plow on the stalkers
|
| Elevated, fix world wide
|
| That’s the pride, I sponsor them
|
| Only money’s on your mind
|
| Then we’ll rob your conscience
|
| Now, lets return the love to the music
|
| Hell is toasted on both sides
|
| Call boy got a bit abusive
|
| Recording check have lost their damn mind
|
| Prince Po, mole it in when I bring it
|
| So you can time travel through my cynic
|
| Hit places we all never been
|
| Like Starbucks selling late with gin
|
| So many cats you thought it’s focus is funny style
|
| Assholes broke and wonder why
|
| Bout to get it, and I mean right now
|
| Gotta eat, someway, somehow
|
| I’m modern days hustlers like Logical
|
| For petty crimes getting football numbers
|
| When we all off-springs of loyalty
|
| You see the dial, you shook it all from us
|
| Hunger from the hood
|
| But when we got it good
|
| We never gave back
|
| I did, and stayed fat
|
| Told you motherfuckers to
|
| Stop getting the twisted
|
| Oh, cause of ruffus the pole
|
| Shit is the business
|
| Now party! |
| Like it’s the last day on Earth
|
| With Q-Nomics, can nobody Jones design this skirt
|
| Shout it! |
| To return you blood suckers to the dirt
|
| Q-Nomics, to remind us that life is worth |