Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Roasted, artist - Trademark. Date of issue: 11.07.2011
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Roasted |
| It’s been a minute let me get with it, as I roll up |
| Niggas been waiting on trade like whats the hold up |
| My only mission in life was to blow up |
| They ask what I throw up |
| You know what I rep and I’m one of the best |
| Supervillian in the building I’m clearly a threat |
| Been doing this here for a minute considered a vet |
| A lot of niggas want me to fail cause they know that I’m next |
| That’s damn near impossible this game ain’t got rid of me yet |
| I fell of and I crawled and regaining my steps |
| This time around I’mma give all till im gaspin for breath |
| I stay silent on a lotta shit quiet is kept |
| But I dont know too many niggas with silent success |
| So I write it all down to get it off my chest |
| The weed we break it all down to get off the stress |
| Niggas hate, fuck 'em, cause they know that we the best |
| It ain’t my fault I do this shit breakin a sweat |
| I’m just laid back chilling posted, living like a villian mostly |
| High off this purple shit, no lie I’m flyin I’m so roasted |
| Money, bitches, Testarossas, Veuve-Clicquot, few mimosas |
| Bring them thru my ups and downs life is like a roller coaster |
| The more I smoke the smaller the doobie get |
| They takin shots at the jets on some John Woo movie shit |
| All blanks I’m unscaved untouched on my way to the bank, what the fuck? |
| For tryna play Spitta you shall forever remain |
| Without a name, lames know what I claim |
| Upset they all throw up my set from the sunroof of my car |
| Seats butter baguettes |
| Bitches crumbling nuggets I’m feeling lovely and blessed |
| Tribeca at Bubby’s I’m enjoying a lemon press not that Minute Maid crap |
| They squeeze these lemons they selves |
| The hearts of women melt when Trilla lyrics are felt |
| Olympic swimming in bitches Micheal slash leon phelps |
| High bread weed money tree slang for dummies |
| Get it crackin like lobsters ice vodka and the bong’s bubblin' |
| I’m just laid back chilling posted, living like a villian mostly |
| High off this purple shit, no lie I’m flyin I’m so roasted |
| Money, bitches, Testarossas, Veuve-Clicquot, few mimosas |
| Bring them thru my ups and downs life is like a roller coaster |
| Me with a record deal yea they said I couldn’t get it |
| My homie Ferris told me you couldn’t hustle for a living but |
| That Richard Porter money had a nigga driven |
| And word to my nigga Stan I was bugging for a minute but |
| Look how the tables turned, they still spinning |
| The homie flew me from Kenner to N-Y city yea |
| My uncle told me let the sky be your limit |
| I was cool with a kid in the kitchen who was a chemist yea |
| And far as bread, mama told me make plenty |
| So it’s money in my bank account and money in my denims yea |
| In high school them girls used to blow me kisses |
| But it’s money over bitches, Roddy all about his Benjies |
| Shout out to Spitta, they wear us out like Fendi |
| Let’s hit the Chi where the weather much windy but |
| But me I’m from the dirty, the dingy, the south |
| Where everywhere we at we smoke it out |
| I’m just laid back chilling posted, living like a villian mostly |
| High off this purple shit, no lie I’m flyin I’m so roasted |
| Money, bitches, Testarossas, Veuve-Clicquot, few mimosas |
| Bring them thru my ups and downs life is like a roller coaster |