Lyrics Legends In The Making - Smoke DZA, Wiz Khalifa, Curren$y

Legends In The Making

Ridin, smokin prayin'
Ridin, smokin prayin'
Ridin, smokin prayin'
We’re legends in the making
Ridin, smokin prayin'
Ridin, smokin prayin'
Ridin, smokin prayin'
We’re legends in the making
And we roll up that dour
Mo money, mo power
And we roll up that dour
Legends in the making
And we roll up that dour
Mo money, mo power
And we roll up that dour
Legends in the making
Young Khalifa winning young Khalifa winnin
Every car I’m smoking weed
Up in it, I don’t know what type of shit you on
I need at least a zip
Didn’t you hear, I say the cars I own are never leased a whip
Leather jacket, nigga muscle cars on that greaser shit
And my bandana tied, I play to ride
Live a movie so make sure the camera right
And I’m pullin up and hoppin out a mess of shit that young niggas ain’t
supposed to get
You know I’m rich
Uh!
Nigga my whole squad getting it
Practically live on the road
Doing 100 when I’m in this bitch
You know niggas kinda slow
A raw paper and some bomb weed
That lil nigga’s tryna clone me
And labels tryin to make the own me
But I’m the only one and only
Kush god, keep it rollin' like the brakes broken
That’s a little gram, little man that ain’t smoking
We move this shit, movie shit, I’m in motion
George Kush, second term and I’m still loaded
Yo bitch on me, all over my
I’m in the bay, smoking on King Henry
On that YO, retro haze but SP
I don’t search for trees, I am OG
Lil nigga your lungs ain’t strong enough to hot box with God
You ain’t got no ones and you mouthin off
Nigga knock it off, you niggas is through
Run we goin down, that’s how much we gon do
I got so much rugby, you have to start my own dude
Big face Rollie, and my mob stay smooth
Fuckin bitches, not I’m lookin like a nigga like you
I’m from Harlem
Homes where you get that weed from
Please don’t roll another one
I don’t even think that’s trees son
Bullshit, all this to show you something
Motor running, tank on F
High octane, high off the best strain
I write with my left brain
Haters face get tight when it’s set game
And them hoes know the business
Boss tight game for the ones they missin
No book, boy we handle bitches
Nigga I rap clothes off yo women
Homes, I smoke a zone in one sitting
Gold and chrome, 13 inches
Boxes on the dashboard, 16 switches
Car full of fumes, smoking that fuel
Exxon on in the ashtray of my coupe
Send her home smellin like Chevron fool
You more than whip, expectin you to
Double my money, double the crew
Triple what we smoked yesterday
Then it’s 4−20, 24/7
Spitter Andretti, Ferraris and Chevys