Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Multiply, artist - Problem. Album song S2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 29.11.2018
Record label: Diamond Lane
Song language: English
Multiply |
| You know the posse’s all together, see how it go |
| (What?) |
| Watch |
| Yo |
| Come on |
| Shit be crazy when we slide |
| Heaven is a ghetto, keep a angel by my side |
| My tombstone gon' read, «Fuckin' Legend"when I die |
| Buncha liquor, buncha weed, even the reverend gettin' high, yeah |
| Yeah, yes |
| And tell my babies not to cry (Yeah!) |
| Just give 'em each a hundred racks, then look 'em in they eye |
| Say, «If you anything like your pops, you gon' make it multiply» |
| Get it |
| Yeah |
| Pain, baby, stranded in the rain, baby |
| Who are you to judge me? |
| Say a prayer if you love me |
| Hangin' with the rodents, gotta carry all they luggage |
| Preliminary hearin' fuckin' up a nigga stomach |
| Free the fellas, possesion of a yeeky by a validated felon |
| Heavy metal, we just copped it out the ghetto |
| Grab a shovel, dig up a quarter to pay your lawyers |
| Gotta feed the killas and treat 'em like they important |
| I show these little niggas that Neiman’s better than Nordstrom’s |
| Slithered to Sac, spent, blew a stack on the fit |
| Blazin' to Mozzy and doubled-back in the Benz |
| Invested over fifty, we double that just to spend |
| Ballin' above the rim, got my gym, been raw |
| Runnin' up the duffle bag on 'em all year long |
| Shit be crazy when we slide |
| Heaven is a ghetto, keep a angel by my side |
| My tombstone gon' read, «Fuckin' Legend"when I die |
| Buncha liquor, buncha weed, even the reverend gettin' high, yeah |
| Yeah, yes |
| And tell my babies not to cry (Yeah!) |
| Just give 'em each a hundred racks, then look 'em in they eye |
| Say, «If you anything like your pops, you gon' make it multiply» |
| Get it (What?) |
| Say you bout that street talk? |
| (Boy) |
| Oh yeah bitch, better be, 'cause them streets talk |
| Better be or get that fleet sparked |
| Your soul will turn into street chalk (Boom!) |
| On my mama’s, nigga |
| T-shirts and floral gardens |
| Bread loss, so the homegirls is throwin' car washes (Damn) |
| GoFundMe, it’s all on Instagram |
| Comment-searchin', niggas typin' what they shouldn’t be typin' |
| Ene-migas over-hypin', leadin' them O.G. |
| sirens |
| Mama tryna mourn in private, family won’t allow it |
| Just sent her baby boy to the store for washin' powder |
| The store is right up the block, he been for gone like a hour |
| Put six shots right in his top, dead and gone for like a hour |
| Lady down over a room about some stolen powder, yeah |
| Wasn’t a hundred it was him, the opps sure did him sour (Damn) |
| Said it wasn’t about the dope, was more about the power |
| And bro was fuckin' on his bitch, so he owed the coward |
| F- it, nines is to the dicks, givin' niggas golden showers |
| 1 o’clock, broad day is his chosen hour |
| Cold shit like frozen bowels |
| Shit be crazy when we slide |
| Heaven is a ghetto, keep a angel by my side |
| My tombstone gon' read, «Fuckin' Legend"when I die |
| Buncha liquor, buncha weed, even the reverend gettin' high, yeah |
| Yeah, yes |
| And tell my babies not to cry (Boy) |
| Just give 'em each a hundred racks, then look 'em in they eye |
| Say, «If you anything like your pops, you gon' make it multiply» |
| Get it |
| Whoa |
| Diamond! |
| Cypress |
| Uh, uh |
| All these fake ass niggas on this industry shit |
| Bein' real is one way to gain enemies quick |
| Changed up overnight, my epiphany hit |
| Bought my bitch some new jewelry, had Tiffany’s lit |
| I need a separatation, stayin' down, I’m forever patient |
| Put the game in a chokehold, no hesitation |
| I know I’m on the right path for my destination |
| I’ll be here for a while, niggas never fadin' |
| I gotta separate the real from the fake |
| It be the niggas that you feed puttin' meals on they plate |
| And the women that you need, someone steals them away |
| Had a real rought start, but we still in the race |
| And I’m winnin' this marathon, so nigga carry on |
| Sippin' Dom Perignon, money strong, Barry Bonds |
| Well, that’s in the future at least |
| 'Cause I’ma need my fuckin' pockets super obese |
| My own brothers hatin' on me, that’s confusin' to me |
| Got the beast all hype like a shoe to release |
| And so I’m goin' better, get sus, you just choosin' defeat |
| Punchline’s goin' crazy, I’m abusin' the beat, nigga |
| Nigga, what up? |
| Get at me |