| Uhh. |
| Welcome to paradise
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| Paper planes, long flights
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| Welcome to the life
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| Destinies fulfilled off the filling from the pillow talking
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| How you killing my highs, I hope you built the coffin
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| I got virgin lungs please excuse the coughing
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| Think I’m bout to blow, they call me George from Boston
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| Respect is never given so I confiscate it
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| Get acquainted with mine I get them acclimated
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| Cherry red dice I’m a gambling man I’m never taking twice
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| Had to escape the life
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| This ain’t for ordinary people, don’t compare me to rappers
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| I’m trying to be like The Beatles,
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| Give me some soul money, niggers is gassed up
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| Tell them to keep it running, I’m keeping the grass cut
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| No snakes, royalty hating niggers don’t get no pussy
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| So it’s more for me, she invited me in her mouth
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| You know it’s cordially, we throwin' racks,
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| she said please don’t talk to me
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| All my niggers is winning, shout out to Charlie Sheen
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| I spit bars the metronome’s a money machine
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| A money machine, of course I’m trying to be the king
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| that was part of my dream
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| And wale told me fuck y’all so we fuck yall, we don’t love y’all
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| Loud B.O.T. |
| above y’all, patron at 4 am, fuck the last call
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| We aint heard of that, and we aint hear of y’all
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| Doggin, Hard listen, mean muggin for when niggas don’t
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| see their C’s til they see the judges
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| Dark side of town, baby mama blues,
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| When drama ensues niggers Ndomakong Suh
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| Old lyin ass defensive as boys,
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| Why you knock that bitch up if you cant tend it out boy
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| I’m a tenant my opinion is monumental
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| I’m here forever, these other niggers scribble in pencil
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| Got indelible colors, only look when they’re buzzing
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| I’m at Dallas with luggage flyin straight to the money
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| And you don’t understand my slang my colloquial is lovely
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| So they quote me and love me like I’m a poet or something
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| Hoe I kick it, I punt it like Reggie Roby or something
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| Shady bitches’ll feel me, Reggie Smokers disgust me
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| Make the least of you haters, make the most of your money
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| Have that consistent drive long as your motor’s running
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| I used to heat up mama house by opening ovens
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| Now mama see that shit on Oprah and know that it’s coming
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| That’s real shit, it’s bigger than rap,
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| my n-gga Cole busy, but genius is back
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| I light up my spliff take a sip of my yack
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| Thinking back of when the city weren’t thinking of rap
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| They weren’t thinking of rap, they weren’t giving a f-ck
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| Now everywhere I go they be giving it up
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| I seen it all from Barry Farms to Sursum Corders
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| They had that rocking like a Park that’s word to Mike Shinoda
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| Shout out to captain Ginnny and free my n-gga Ricky
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| We always pray for polo, we miss you little Penny
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| We skip college, chase dollars and black pennies
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| Not in the kingdom of Zamunda but it’s mad semi’s
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| Where bad bitches with bad intentions just act friendly
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| This where they love you then they hate you, go and ask Fifty
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| Yeah, go and ask fifty
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| They love you then they hate you, go and ask fifty
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| Go and ask fenty, hating ass n-gga, sweeter than sibling
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| Who got the juice n-gga?
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| juice n-gga,
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| juice n-gga,
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| My… dont keep it deuce nigga
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| work, work, work, work, work. |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 4 Am, artist - Wale. Album song Live from the Dmv, Vol. 2, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп