| This ain’t no marathon, never worry on
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| If she throw it back, Barry Bonds
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| Great debate, let it carry on
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| You be Mike Wallace, I’ll be Farrakhan, Un-American
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| If I’m in the room, I’m the elephant
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| My cellphone is like a telethon
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| Don’t be insulting my intelligence
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| I’m the poster child, gold chain
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| Gold ring, gold watch, I’m the golden child
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| Know Translee, who’s Translee
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| Got dammit, do you know me now?
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| Hope you absorbing that
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| These liquor stores they be sorta packed
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| The new world order ordered that
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| That’s why guns got no safety
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| Cause we just want our corner back, you get that?
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| No safety man
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| Cause we just want our cornerback
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| That’s one-hundred like quarter sacks
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| I’m more than rap, I need moolah before I oolah
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| Im more Busta Rhymes than Martin Lawrence I wooahhh before I woosaah
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| With a cool drive, Im too live
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| Your momma gonna need your suit size how my crew ride
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| In due time
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| Never be a loser, always win like a cool breeze
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| I be listening to Cool Breeze
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| My cologne is Cool Breeze, my belt cost two g’s
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| That’s kind of overboard I know
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| I got dope vocal chords, I know
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| I rock the dopest clothes, I know
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| I got the dopest hoes, I know
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| I got the most… I know
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| Hooligan, fooligan, hooligan, shwooligan, wooligan, wooligan, shooligan
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| That’s what I heard when I turn on the radio
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| Rappers should be more intuitive
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| That way nobody dies, cause I see nobody tries
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| That’s why when ya’ll drop ya’ll shit it’s like ya’ll fans gay, nobody buys
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| I’m killing shit like a shotgun in your ass crack
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| This rap shit, ya’ll can have that
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| Too much politican man I hate that
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| And why we got to be scared of ya’ll?
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| Ya’ll wear skinny jeans
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| And, nothing wrong with skinny jeans but
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| We can see that ya’ll AIN’T STRAPPED
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| Think about it, Whitney Houston I’ma sing about it
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| New rollie got to take a link up out it
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| She sext me ain’t get a thing up out it
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| She sext you and got a ring up out it
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| Who’s the realer man? |
| Cause you built a fam and I just pulled my pants up and
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| ran, damn
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| Don’t be a loser forever, that’s the moral of the story
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| Don’t fight with your success, don’t quarrel with the glory
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| You want the house with all the stories, no worries
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| Just keep a shoulder cold as snow flurries
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| And take the slow grind, no hurries
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| Fresh when I bend them corners, flexing got DaVinci on us
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| Blowing money fast, I think I might put Bleu Davinci on this
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| Never wore this type of shit, but hey they got the cameras on us
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| These are Kunta Kinte orders, don’t respond to what they call us
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| Nigga’s not my name, bitch is not her name either
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| I was on them bitches back when niggas was just name keepers
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| Riding in that same Regal, me and Bull, we needed fuel we relied on women we
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| had pulled, sshh
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| We was on them back streets, me and Miller, ounces in the backseat
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| Pray to god I make it home, cause I know that this is not me
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| The cops be behind us to remind us slaveries not far behind us college isn’t
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| promised
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| Prison won’t decline us, they’ll make some room, make some room even if they
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| gotta take a school
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| Take a school, take a stool you gon' need it
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| Have a seat cause what I’m feedin' is the 80's crack boom, you’ll never beat it
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| Where ya gonna be when you’re 40?
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| Gonna be on Oprah, gonna be Maury
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| Gonna have some grandkids tell em all ya stories
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| Just don’t be a loser, all ya life
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| I might hit you with that ficky ficky ficky like I’m Missy Elliot
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| Im rapping like an alien, I give these hoes an alias
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| They can’t wait to see us sell temperature in celsius
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| You ain’t get that punchline
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| Celsius, see us sell, well, sometimes I be stretching it
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| Sometimes I be wrecking shit too hard don’t get no recompense
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| The FBI might take this song and use it for evidence
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| And lock me up for letting you know the truth and it’s evidence
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| I see money, I see money, greed and evil
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| I indulge in the achievement of my people
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| That’s just how I was raised, praise god on Sunday mornings
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| Tell em I’m done with hoes, next morning I’m right back horny, ooh
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| Bitches tell me «ooh kill em», I just fall off in that couchie
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| And I lean, smooth criminal, tryna be too visual, on the hunt for new residual
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| Tired of make due with minimum DNC’s the new cinema
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| Where ya gonna be when you’re 40? |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Losers (feat. Bias the Black), artist - Translee. Album song Culture Junky, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп