| Soon as you hear this verse, I’m out the record deal
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| Exceeded twelve albums, four years, and that’s a record still
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| Hand to the sky like Emmett Till off the steppin' wheel
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| And minus all the sex appeal, your boy about to flex for real
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| Rolls-Royce Cullinan, four-doors 'cause my son in it
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| I’m drivin' down the Gardiner, Toronto, home city
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| With two tings that I partnered up, playin' putter and possum
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| Then I puff with my girls like Buttercup with a Blossom
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| Excessive needs for pussy, power, and SUVs
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| That drop us to the back-door entrances, stress relief
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| And no less, indeed, the shooters is pressin' like refugees
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| And the fee at the entranceway too high just to let 'em free
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| What can’t alarm me is whose crew’s finna harm me
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| My little dudes move like new recruits in the army
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| And all they see is food, shrimps, scallops, and calamari
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| I gallivant at a Barbie while they gather back at your party
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| Uh, should let the women I fuck raw and unprotected
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| Like, fuck, if you get pregnant, I’ll keep it
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| Keep a secret, only in town for a week, and I’m
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| Datin' women knowin' I’m cheatin' for foreign reasonin'
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| Fuck y’all niggas throwin' y’all beef in, I’m goin' vegan with Heaven’s timin'
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| Shootin' and set designin', they’re movin' like I sold ten million records in
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| record timin'
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| I did, then I kept on climbin'
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| I started at 90 Orenda, plays and private agendas
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| Tryna get fly, but niggas tried and I kindly reject 'em
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| They ran my name through the mud, but I’m finally respected
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| This here out of the plan, this more of a God purpose
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| This here out of my hands, this’ll never feel like 2012
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| Signin' to Sean Kingston for clout and advance
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| I’m still proud of that man, know I fell out from his hands
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| He didn’t do me worse than — and all of his friends
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| Them niggas out of this world, they came out of the sands
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| I’m still 'bout it, my mans
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| Thought this shit was mad love 'til I see my album advance
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| They took radio from me, I stayed proud of my stance
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| I kept slappin' the world with hits like I powdered my hands
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| I would’ve been ten times bigger if — wasn’t bein' bitter and doubtin' my chance
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| Threatenin' to shelf my whole career for five years
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| As if he wasn’t takin' money from out my advance
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| I got out by chance
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| Them nights was like the Super Bowl, watchin' out from the stands
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| God don’t make things happen by chance
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| And it’s some things you gon' have to experience
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| I’m dappin' up the border officer passin' the clearance
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| He always makes a corny joke 'bout my rapper appearance
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| Then I do a fake laugh that he catches like pass interference
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| I fly back into Paris
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| Blunt smoke ash on my terrace
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| My competition’s just a empty-ass class full of chairs
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| Talkin' to myself, it’s lonely, minus the fact that I’m here
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| I’m tryna see all of my niggas blossom
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| Mariah sellin' shows, Coachella her first year
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| And minus all the times we disagree, I’m still here
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| Pierre, Papi Yerr 'bout to be a whole millionaire
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| Davo comin' out the cut with a chick with Sicilian hair
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| Mansa droppin' next month, you niggas should be in fear
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| Watchin' Melii do the numbers like she runnin' track and field
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| Plus we just got Kaash in here
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| And it’s all Umbrella army on full attack mode, for real
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| New Toronto 3, I’ll leave it at that
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| And ain’t nobody fuckin' with me, folk, I’ll keep it at that, yeah
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| The next move is goin' fully independent
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| And any label offer under hundred mill' is just offensive
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| I promise |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Letter To The City 2 , by - Tory Lanez. Song from the album The New Toronto 3, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп