Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Mathematics, artist - OJ Da Juiceman. Album song The Otis Williams Jr Story, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 04.12.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: 32 ENTERTAINMENT
Song language: English
Mathematics |
In the trap back at it, all I know is mathematics |
Keep that clean fish scale, chickens bust up out the wrapper |
2008, Juiceman turned into a rapper |
Coming down the road with them bricks in a camper |
Flying down the Crest, bricks in my daughter Pamper |
Zone 6 nigga right here in East Atlanta |
Keep them Hefty bags, nigga you can call me Santa |
Small fry nigga, you’ll never be on my level |
Hater get on my level, bricks come in on schedule |
Dancing with the devil ever since I was in Pampers |
Georgia Baptist born but I was raised in East Atlanta |
Zone 6 nigga still trapping with them blammers |
Out here serving Dirty Diana, got keys just like pianos |
In the kitchen cooking Hannah, make a hater turn the channel |
Mississippi mud but my name not David Banner |
In it for a bag, you can keep the fame and glamour |
Run bricks like Deon Saunders |
My name they wanna slander |
32 ENT and the feds wanna ban us |
Born in the trap but they just don’t understand us |
Grew up with the boys but half of 'em jealous |
In the trap back at it, all I know is mathematics |
Keep that clean fish scale, chickens bust up out the wrapper |
2008, Juiceman turned into a rapper |
Coming down the road with them bricks in a camper |
Flying down the Crest, bricks in my daughter Pamper |
Zone 6 nigga right here in East Atlanta |
Keep them Hefty bags, nigga you can call me Santa |
Small fry nigga, you’ll never be on my level |
Swim team wrist when I’m cooking fish |
Catch me in the kitchen, nigga I can serve a dish |
Plug throw the rock, Chris Paul, I assist |
Slam like Blake, damn near broke my wrist |
Posted in the trap, in the yard is some fish |
Say I got it from rap, nah nigga, it was bricks |
'Cause the J’s love the rocks and the niggas love to sniff |
Smoking up the gas, we call it piff |
Feeling like Tony, got my name on a blimp |
Shout out to Memphis, got Young Juiceman feel like pimps |
Caught me slipping once, got Young Juiceman with a limp |
Hundred rack donk, 20 bands for the rims |
In the trap back at it, all I know is mathematics |
Keep that clean fish scale, chickens bust up out the wrapper |
2008, Juiceman turned into a rapper |
Coming down the road with them bricks in a camper |
Flying down the Crest, bricks in my daughter Pamper |
Zone 6 nigga right here in East Atlanta |
Keep them Hefty bags, nigga you can call me Santa |
Small fry nigga, you’ll never be on my level |
Shouts out to my baby Chloe |
Yeah, that’s my homie |
Nigga, run up on we |
His family be lonely |
I’ma act a donkey |
Banana with the monkey |
In a stolen car but I’m riding with a junkie |
Mask on like a hockey with some military functions |
Going out 'bout mine, I ain’t dying bout no fuck shit |
Grab the sniper and say fuck it |
Go and steal a bucket |
Then, ending all that fuck shit |
These choppas, you can’t duck it |
You better not try to truck it |
You ain’t Usain Bolt so you better not buck it |
I’ma keep it real, I’m that nigga not to fuck wit |
Treat your head like a brick, boy you 'bout to get it busted |
In the trap back at it, all I know is mathematics |
Keep that clean fish scale, chickens bust up out the wrapper |
2008, Juiceman turned into a rapper |
Coming down the road with them bricks in a camper |
Flying down the Crest, bricks in my daughter Pamper |
Zone 6 nigga right here in East Atlanta |
Keep them Hefty bags, nigga you can call me Santa |
Small fry nigga, you’ll never be on my level |