Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Still Waiting, artist - Royce 5'9. Album song The Bar Exam 4, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 19.06.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Heaven Studios
Song language: English
Still Waiting |
I’m still waiting on you |
Yes, I’m |
I’m still waiting on you |
Yes, I’m |
I’m still waiting on you |
Yes, I’m |
I’m still waiting on you, you, you |
Taking it back just like that |
I’m still waiting on you niggas to inspire me |
Lately, I’ve been feeling like retiring, you B.S.'ing |
I take a pull from the Romeo y Julieta |
Like if niggas ain’t leveling, hiring, UPS is |
I’m challenging y’all niggas to move the needle |
If not, fuck it, I made enough, it’s cool with me though |
The quickest way to have your pimping in doubt |
Is to let the hibachi chef throw a shrimp in yo' mouth |
That’s a flag like it’s crips in the house, fag like a dick in the spout |
Past life itchin' just to come out |
All of y’all just be telling them lies |
Most exciting thing y’all can do is jump out the closet yelling «Surprise!» |
I’m a product of Funkadelic and Parliament |
I blow the roof off and make all you chicks suck my doggy dick |
I give you niggas a Mardi Gras full of martyrs to party with |
It’s apparent, I slaughter you and your guardian |
So tell your muscle I make a doctor open him up |
And button him looking like a skeleton wearing a Cardigan |
Now, who the fuck want it? |
Now of you who got the back of |
Who the fuck want it, bro? |
I got the scolio |
Y’all niggas be wanting too much dough, slow your roll |
I don’t know how much I’ll loan ya, I’m not OVO |
Woah, for those who try to live the rough life |
Pistol through your clothes, slugs ripping through your cashmere |
Give a nigga a buck 50 like I’m the cashier |
Leave us left for the beef, resting in peace, you tough, right? |
I’ll punch a nigga to Timbuktu |
I got a drum, I’ll front a nigga ten bucks too |
The outcome of playing big bank to little bank with me |
Will prolly be a hundred thousand in ten bucks too |
Uh, y’all lonely savage on the mollies acting like your life is violent |
I’m catapulting bodies, catching 'em like a virus |
Try to violate me, my ETA is a major scene |
And it will be the day, it will be the GTA «wasted» screen |
I’m still waiting on you |
Yes, I’m |
I’m still waiting on you |
Yes, I’m |
I’m still waiting on you |
Yes, I’m |
I’m still waiting on you, you, you |
Taking it back just like that |
I could tell by your dress code you extra hoe |
I guess the rap game’s 'bout who flex the most |
All these funny niggas with cloudy jewelry at these award shows |
Was never rich, but dropping gems to poor souls |
Tap a super model, she bound to need Morse code |
Screaming with my head in her box, it ain’t a Vogue pose |
God’s favorite, a public enemy, love my women in all flavors |
If I made it, we all made it |
'Pac reincarnated, spitting on cam, fuck 'em |
But I’m just me, I never claim to be the toughest |
Ain’t gotta tell fake dope stories for you to love 'em |
Blood rushing like when a Russian, is hugging a Kalashnikov |
Busting, cousin used to tease me, call me crack baby |
Tell 'em nothing changed, still dope, baby |
Lately, I ain’t for the monkey shit |
Shooters with banana clips, dumping 'em |
Catching 'em slipping and peel 'em up at the family function and |
Tell me who I’m up against, I run this shit |
Nigga, the only thing could kill a legend is a double dish |
Ride on 'em, me and Nickel Nine on-a ya |
You know I snuck the thing in this bitch just like a foreigner |
Pay no mind, it’s no biggy, but shit I’m warning ya |
The way I ball gon' make a nigga cornier |
Tell the coroners «come», baby, there’s been a murder |
Never was underrated, nigga, I’m unheard of |
You outta line like you ain’t got a lotta drive |
Fuck around and clash with some niggas you idolized |
Bottom line, I’m a man with a lot of pride |
Got my mama’s eyes |
From the ghetto, I’m traumatized, where I lie confined |
As I watch my demons ménage screaming «I'm alive» |
Life is a freak, I put faith is this lady marmalade |
I just sign on the dotted line |
It’s for rappers who look like they get sodomized, you outta time |
Just like that, that, that, that |
That |
I’m poisonous pesticide, extra wide nostrils |
Hostile infects aside, it’s the chainsaw massacre |
Texas side in a Lexus fried doing donuts |
As if I grabbed the coffee with it for breakfast |
This shit I write it make you ball up your fist to fight and |
Take off on a nigga, make him think he missed a flight |
So you shouldn’t ignore me then, I can trade lines with Scorpion |
Or pretend I’m not Kevorkian, just his dorky twin |
And I ain’t got a lock when I’m sticking the door key in |
Cause I got this in the bag like apartment 4B when |
Jigga was a hustler who later wrote about it on the intro |
To In My Lifetime, and you’s a customer |
Not accustomed to how I’m on the cusp of greatness |
And at the top of the food chain, I could hump the waitress and |
How you do these dishes? |
I’m truly vicious |
I know you wish my life sucked and Death blew me kisses |
But I’m extra closer to the Testarossa |
The best, supposed to make you sick to your stomach till you possess an ulcer |
You know my reputation, who in yo' camp wanna step to Jason? |
A sick disease that cut into you like six degrees of separation |
You’ll find it’s more lines in this rhyme than a brick of ki’s |
That any crime unit would be quick to seize |
From some high rollers who are thick as thieves |
Who love the top dog and how he flick his fleas |
And I could give you food for thought before fricassee’s |
Or I can just rub you out like two crickets' knees |
They rather see me chatching murder charges |
'stead of Jamaica at the SPA on my third massage |
Living the life that’s in need of a narration |
Give me the spotlight, you can keep the interrogation |
At the sheriff station |
And I swear if you tryna play the don |
Think before you dive in murky waters with a megalodon |