Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Humble, artist - Vince Staples. Album song Stolen Youth, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 04.12.2014
Record label: Flatland
Song language: English
Humble |
| Homie, I ain’t humble, I deserve this shit |
| I’m from the side of the curb where the birds get flipped |
| So fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you |
| Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you |
| White high school’s wasn’t laughing at the black jokes |
| Daddy had us contact high off of crack smoke |
| Had to get it cracking with the 7 cause the Mac broke |
| Wrist fucked up, couldn’t make it to practice |
| Had the money in the couch and the K’s by the mattress |
| Chasing senior bitches down cause we was hanging with Pac then |
| Sidekick thefts, if he pressed him we packed him |
| Ski masking, but niggas wasn’t going to Aspen |
| Mayfair freshman class, but I skipped them all |
| But Miss Brown cause that was my nigga |
| Ask me what had mattered more, the school or the set? |
| She can tell by the truancy I’m true to the shit |
| Couple months I was up out of there |
| Mama kicked me out of the house, but shit I didn’t care |
| Hitting licks, it came to a drought, so we was killing kids all for the buck |
| 15, sitting shotgun, ready to dump |
| Homie, I ain’t humble, I deserve this shit |
| I’m from the side of the curb where the birds get flipped |
| So fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you |
| Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you |
| Homie, I ain’t humble, I deserve this shit |
| I’m from the side of the curb where the birds get flipped |
| So fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you |
| Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you |
| I swear I’m busy every time my mama call my phone |
| No time for stressing, she can leave a message at the tone |
| I apologize for breaking up your happy home |
| And looking like my daddy, all them arguments was overblown |
| Girl, I just want you happy, that’s the reason why I write these songs |
| Cause I can give a fuck 'bout where I end up when it’s said and done |
| Riding down 7 Street, looking for your second son |
| Found him on Artesia with a Yankee hat and loaded gun |
| But you ain’t know the difference, coming home late |
| Seen Tyson in the kitchen trying to make his own plate |
| But you love my homies like you love your only son that walk and talk |
| Think that was the reason you afraid to see me risk it all |
| But your father told me no reward if it’s no risk involved |
| And your father raised me, made me crazy, don’t take shit at all |
| I know you miss him cause I miss him more than I can quite recall |
| Knew he would be happy as the day my mama had me, see |
| Homie, I ain’t humble, I deserve this shit |
| I’m from the side of the curb where the birds get flipped |
| So fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you |
| Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you |
| Homie, I ain’t humble, I deserve this shit |
| I’m from the side of the curb where the birds get flipped |
| So fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you |
| Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you |