Lyrics Carry On (feat. Joey Bada$$, Freddie Gibbs) - Statik Selektah, Joey Bada$$, Freddie Gibbs

Carry On (feat. Joey Bada$$, Freddie Gibbs)

Statik Selektah
«—live and direct»
«Others such as myself are tryna—» «—carry on tradition»
Carry on tradition
«Got Statik, and I’mma select»
«You get it!»
Mic check, 1, 2, 1, 2
Mic check when a nigga come through
«—carry on tradition»
Niggas keep it silent
'Cause we all about that knowledge
Besides the fact a nigga never been as swank as me, I like that
Until I shine I sit patiently, so light that
I’m folding back, scroll a pack and roll a fatty, smoke-savvy
Not divinorum, mad I’m thinking what they probably should have did before him
I’m on my girls and soaring, foreign under them heels
It ain’t about the Ralph though, tell your horse chill
Don’t need to grill to feel like a real nigga
If he can’t see the light then shine Hilfigers still
Six-figure deals with the hell, since the age of six I knew the name would ring
a bell
In six more years to wonder what the time could tell
That’s 666 still no signs of a three-sixty deal
Neither did I sell myself, records spinning by they self
The DJ tell myself go reflects off the reflex, before I told Flex drop that
Semtex on the next New York best
This sickest sound, stick around, and we coming for the vets now
Can a nigga contest?
Maybe if he put his pride aside he could confess,
but none the less
It’s fundamental, weed to fund the mental, wise with the momentum
So rise on this momental, so pawn your in-credentials
Watch who you pretend to, and put a potent diamond to fuel
Respect my conglomerate then wait I’m rocking to
It’s such a prominent tune, but I won’t get my roses until I lie on my tomb
Flowers
«Others such as myself are tryna—» «—carry on tradition»
Carry on tradition
Fo' sho'
Yeah «Got Statik, and I’mma select»
I said, that E-S to the G-N, bitch
«—live and direct»
Yeah, fo' sho' «—carry on tradition» Gangster Gibbs, baby
Nigga, that Hennessy—
Nigga, that Hennessy—nigga, that Hennessy—
With my lyrical Billy Dee .45 Colt
Fuck the polices, they raided but they can’t find dope
If it ain’t about money and bitches—nigga, what you rhyme for?
Work half a day in my trap, and make what you sign for
My niggas is willing to whip that work
Cause it’s such a ridiculous feeling to come in your crib and your shit don’t
work
Electric, gas, and water
You fugazi and mutilated like Pookie at the Carter
Joseph Jackson of gangsta rapping, nigga respect the father
Taking it back to making them pick a switch off the tree
Every time you rap or do a show, bitch I should pinch off a fee
You used to flow 'bout goofy shit, met a G and got on some groupie shit
A slave to my rap page, student under my tutelage
I’m still taking these boys to school
As quick as I build them up, I can just disassemble them
Coke and cut the curriculum cousin stayed up in Flint
I was shipping this shit to Michigan
The black bastard fuck LensCrafters I see the bitch in them
Cop a squat drop a pile on them, I’m steadily shitting on these niggas
But they hate the way Freddie came and switched up the style on ‘em
I stretched it out to 250 he got a nine coming
Don’t sell it at night but I’m up as early as five something
Chopping boulders, and blowing dosha so fuck a cup of Folgers
Bended corners, and serving yola straight off this Motorola
Sometimes you sacrifice your heart to serve this hard weight
Thirty rounds of death on my waist, its Baby Scarface, nigga
(«—carry on tradition») Yeah
I said, thirty rounds of death on my waist, its Baby Scarface, nigga
I got thirty rounds of death on my waist, its Baby Scarface, nigga
Yeah
(«—carry on tradition»)
Carry on tradition
«Got Statik, and I’mma select»
«You get it!»
You know what I’m sayin', nigga?
These niggas’ll rap around circles and shit
But, you know what I’m sayin', if they ain’t talking no real shit,
it really doesn’t really fuckin' matter, you dig what I’m sayin', nigga?
Haha, ya dig?