Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Outro, artist - Vince Staples. Album song Stolen Youth, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 04.12.2014
Record label: Flatland
Song language: English
Outro |
I’m here to tell the world I’m from Ramona park |
Diving in the deep water like I know the sharks |
Climbing in the king daughter I deserved the crown |
They weren’t fucking with ya boy, but they heard me now |
Me and white boy Mac came to take them back |
Way back, back when people used to learn from rap |
I’m here to show you motherfuckers what I learn from Pac, Slim |
Couple rounds in the clip down for burning that |
Beats i murder that, beef i murder that |
Heard the shooter yell NNer before he heard the mac |
And even if that nigga didn’t |
Bet he know it’s them |
Black with a little bit of brown like a doberman |
That 1911 hold 11 |
Go and call the 9−11 |
He just send his soul to heaven |
Bitches say the shows is heaven sitting in the front row |
Turned a couple Poly High games to the gun show |
Turned a couple Wilson High gangs to the track meet |
You be in to rap beef cause you ain’t never have beef |
Joey thats my brother so I’m part of all of Fatts beef |
And you know my strap |
Keep talking thats my black bitch |
2−2-3 make a fat nigga black flip |
One 16 wipe niggas off the map quick |
Never had to show a lot of effort with the rap shit |
Going for the kill cause I never really had shit |
Same old stereo type, got the stereo hype |
Hope when I die that I’m buried like Mike |
Guys on that prize that ain’t even my sight |
If you want that fire then he leaving tonight to show |
Two claps when I see my yaNNcs |
Two straps been moved that across the interstate |
Arizona homies call me Flagstaff shortie |
Chrome Kel Tec nine and a big black 40 |
We be shooting up the parties like we got no sense |
Ride around city trippin, we ain’t got no tints |
Hood been my home, I ain’t got no rent |
We be chillin' on the pop like we livin' on the pop |
Never slipping, not trying to see the prison like my pops |
Never giving you a pass if I consider you a Op |
Don’t consider you a threat if you ain’t sending niggas shots |
Got some killas with me down to put a nigga in the dirt |
Light the candles on the curb, send a message to the cops |
Snitch niggas in the feds sending letters to the cops |
So I never trust a soul, when they ask I’m never speaking |
My Baretta Scott King strong and black and she could be |
Team trying to gangrene like that old Max B |
Old French Montana, macaroni with the cheese |
Young Joe Montana throwing bullets through your defense |
They need Vince, you should put him on your team |
If I die on these streets then consider me a martyr |
Enemies ghost 5 deep in the charger |
Down to shoot though cause I got that jumper |
Been on that block this my 19th summer |
Momma playing Stevie Wonder in the kitchen while she cooking |
Pigs knocking at the door to take my dad to central booking |
Reading books up in my room cause she won’t let me go and play |
Scared her youngest son will run around and go pick up a K |
Fuck that shit you represent I’m here to get these presidents |
Wouldn’t be the only king to come up where the peasants live |
Pray to god I never do the shit that both my parents did |
History repeats itself, it’s up to me to change it |
Watch me burn the book of life and write the pages in my favor |
On some King James shit |
Call me Mr. on some Rosewood Ving Rhames shit |
Keep a pistol in the Gap fleece |
We aim quick, leave a nigga on the backstreets |
Same old shit, you heard Stuck In My Ways |
No the show don’t stop, I could do it for days |
If you disrespect my family we all gon' fight |
Swinging like T Woods, trying to earn my stripes |
Yeah that uppercut will fuck him up so say goodnight |