Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ramadan, artist - Smoke DZA. Date of issue: 03.06.2021
Song language: English
Ramadan |
| Heard they put her son down like Ramadan |
| (Niggas gettin' tried left and right, homie) |
| Then they wonder why the streets left us traumatized |
| (Shit ain’t no game, nigga) |
| Traumatized (Uh), traumatized |
| I got a budget just to keep new Dior in my closet (Right) |
| New handheld pistols on my niggas like wallets |
| Big business, so you know, it’s a bigger deposit |
| High-tech money machines to speed up the process (Uh) |
| I don’t explain the process to novices, what’s the object? |
| Hand full of |
| off the optics |
| Uh, they hate to see me livin' my life |
| Them «back-in-the-days"-stories still ain’t changing the price |
| Don’t get caught up in position and power, for the hour |
| Niggas get to cappin' 'bout smoke, I light the loud up |
| I got niggas rich, you got niggas clipped |
| Embarrassed, investigated, all types of shit |
| I underestimated the scripts, the hyphenate (Uh) |
| You started of 30's and ended with Vicodins |
| Worst thing you could do with a drug is light the shit |
| The ratio from dealer to user is hightening |
| Your life’ll end |
| Parked the spaceship in front of mama’s fry (G shit) |
| We was taught to squeeze 'til the drama die (Brrt) |
| Homie, don’t be the reason that your mama cry (Please don’t) |
| Heard they put her son down like Ramadan |
| (Niggas gettin' tried left and right, homie) |
| Then they wonder why the streets left us traumatized |
| (Shit ain’t no game, nigga) |
| Traumatized, traumatized |
| It’s all good 'til rules get broke, and crews get smoked |
| It’s crazy when you get rich off the truth you smoke |
| And them niggas you fuck with only poof, you broke |
| Got really fool patrol, had to trap on cruise control, yeah |
| Uh, you know I hit the interstate scorin' 'caine |
| Quarter thing, before I left I got a oil change |
| Off the 63 where your bitch stay, when you this straight |
| The pussy always free, but the bricks ain’t |
| But my wrist great, yeah |
| My only jackpot was a crackpot |
| They say I used to be a hustler, shit, when that stop? |
| My new customers ask me when that drop |
| It’s still fifty racks dropped just to wack opps |
| When I was younger I just wanted to be a fireman |
| I grew up fast, buying yams, supplying grams |
| Your favorite rapper in my diet plan |
| I kept it gangsta, my choices was live a rat, or die a man |
| Parked the spaceship in front of mama’s fry (G shit) |
| We was taught to squeeze 'til the drama die (Brrt) |
| Homie, don’t be the reason that your mama cry (Please don’t) |
| Heard they put her son down like Ramadan |
| (Niggas gettin' tried left and right, homie) |
| Then they wonder why the streets left us traumatized |
| (Shit ain’t no game, nigga) |
| Traumatized (Uh), traumatized |
| If we talkin' hustlers, I’m ahead of them all (Facts) |
| And if we talkin' rap niggas, I’m beheadin' 'em all (Uh) |
| Did it all just to ball, but was never incarce' |
| 'Cause a fish with its mouth closed could never get caught, uh |
| I slide through the trenches with this .40 on my hip |
| Deuce-deuces in the purse, a lil' shawty in my whip (Got that) |
| I slip through mo' towns than Barry Gordy with the bricks |
| I got rich, kid, guess I’m Tory with the bricks |
| If I call my body-droppers they gon' shotty shot 'em |
| Catch you in your buildin', get your lobbies rockin' |
| Spin the block and tell 'em hop in (Hop in) |
| Then we skrt on them niggas like, «damn, they killed 'em» (Skrrt) |
| Witness said they fled |
| just like some pilgrims |
| Always on the guild then |
| We always been them niggas and we still them |
| I step outside the Hilton, they film him |
| Hop into some plush shit with stashboxes built in |
| And tablets for the children, and panoramic ceilings |
| (Lawd) |
| Parked the spaceship in front of mama’s fry (G shit) |
| We was taught to squeeze 'til the drama die (Brrt) |
| Homie, don’t be the reason that your mama cry (Please don’t) |
| Heard they put her son down like Ramadan |
| (Niggas gettin' tried left and right, homie) |
| Then they wonder why the streets left us traumatized |
| (Shit ain’t no game, nigga) |
| Traumatized (Uh), traumatized |