Lyrics Into the Sky - Rittz

Into the Sky

It’s been
Five years in a row, I still won’t quit
Fuck the recognition people still don’t give
And the retro 8's with the strap unfastened
And my shoestrings tucked to the Velcro strip
I don’t battle rap and I ain’t on the shell toe tip
Looking like I’m moving dope, but I don’t sell no bricks
Up inside the Regal, you can run and play The Seagulls
See me leaning out the window with the elbow bent
Try to bring a German Shepherd, they don’t smell no scent
Won’t see no seeds, don’t spill no stems
Got a L-O-N-G beast in the streets
CNT is a team it’s a fellowship
I ain’t ever been to jail, I don’t tell no fibs
Any time they ever try me is a failed attempt
I don’t ever wanna catch a L, I win
Bitches tryna find out what hotel I’m in
I’ll be better when, I’m finally off the road
Any baggage, I’ma leave it with the bellhop
Shell-shocked when I came home 'til I see a big check
When I’m peeking in the mailbox
80 bags of the stash that I had
As I brag to my homie in the jailhouse
I can help now, when you get out I’ll be well off
Haters say hell nah
Bitch don’t even try-y-y-y-y
'Cause that ain’t gonna fly-y-y-y-y
They say that I’m on fi-i-i-i-ire
And I don’t even li-i-i-i-ie
I’ma look 'em in the eye, put a middle finger up
Put a middle finger up, put a middle finger up
Into the sky-y-y-y-y
Put a middle finger up, put a middle finger up
Into the sky-y-y-y-y
Put a middle finger up, put a middle finger up
Into the sky-y-y-y-y
Put a middle finger up, put a middle finger up into the sky
Some of y’all might hate this cadence
Mad 'cause obtained the taste sensation
Starving like all I ever ate was Ramen
Your favorite entertainer okay with stagin'
Ballin' when they having trouble making payments
Thought that they could draw, but they were tracing faces
People that you place your faith in are faking
Like alien invasions, lasers, ray guns
Brag about your money and your company
If someone doesn’t want it, they be jumping like a bullfrog
Now you gotta prove all the shit that you was talking
You a poodle in a saloon full of bulldogs
Got a dot on your head from the blue chalk
On the cue ball, in the pool hall
No reality show when you leave Fulton County
You ain’t calling no shots like Too Tall
Hit you when they pull off
Now the family gotta tell 'em too-da-loo
All that I can say is c’est la vie
True, I got a little loot
I try not to rub it in they face when I make my cheese
A few times I done seen a few guys showing they cahoonas
Thinking they was paid like me
Pull up in a new car, you ain’t got no money in the bank like me
So —
Bitch don’t even try-y-y-y-y
'Cause that ain’t gonna fly-y-y-y-y
They say that I’m on fi-i-i-i-ire
And I don’t even li-i-i-i-ie
I’ma look 'em in the eye, put a middle finger up
Put a middle finger up, put a middle finger up
Into the sky-y-y-y-y
Put a middle finger up, put a middle finger up
Into the sky-y-y-y-y
Put a middle finger up, put a middle finger up
Into the sky-y-y-y-y
Put a middle finger up, put a middle finger up into the sky