Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Have Mercy, artist - Young Roddy. Date of issue: 24.05.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Have Mercy |
| Might break her heart, I tell her what I really did |
| Block on fire but I’m chilly chill |
| On the real, I could take your wheels, really real |
| Try tell her one day I’ma be a millionaire |
| Slip up, get caught, get 100 years |
| Tough love made his mom cry 100 tears |
| Yeah, the niggas get loud or they gone and |
| It’s me against the real, yeah I’m all in |
| In the bank smelling like Bob Marley |
| Told my girl I’d be home in the morning |
| I was back now it’s gone get the money |
| My side bitch, that’s a whole 'nother story |
| Not to many niggas make it out New Orleans |
| Never hating, if they did I applaud 'em |
| Stay safe yeah the feds, they recording |
| I’m hood rich, still rocking Air Forces |
| All I know is while they crossing coffins |
| All I see is second lines in coffins |
| Phone ringing off the hook, they calling |
| Trap phones stay jumping like Jordan |
| Niggas bag up bricks on the regular |
| Niggas emptying them clips on a regular |
| Bunch of cowboys ride with they heads low |
| When a good nigga get killed that’s f’ed up |
| Probably why them niggas hearts stay frozen |
| No love for a bitch like Goldie |
| Hoes tell me I’m a dog like Rover |
| From the hood where the cops stay patrolling |
| Glenwood with the rats and the roaches |
| Call the plug, get them packs up in motion |
| On the block with the snakes and the vultures |
| Bust the Tre, yeah my life a rollercoaster |
| Back to the hood like I never left it |
| Cops pull us over, ask 21 questions |
| Living up in Hell, wonder will I get to Heaven? |
| Lost in the sauce, asked God for directions |
| Bait the bill, give it to the reverend |
| I don’t give a fuck feeling like Machiavelli |
| Trapped and I trapped and trapped in the belly |
| Yeah, the beast where them young niggas selling |
| Same old shit just a different day |
| Wake up, get dressed, make another plate |
| Nigga looking for the villain, I been in the cut |
| Chilling, plotting on a million |
| Tell 'em that I’m on my way |
| Smoke a 3 gram blunt, take the stress away |
| Made a 10 grand jug just yesterday |
| Only thing I know is how to get the bag up |
| Spit the truth, amen, put your hands up |
| From a city that ain’t sweet when it’s beef |
| Hittas catch you in the street |
| And they wet your whole fam up |
| Young 'uns on the block flashing hammers like cameras |
| They hoes said it’s local, they crips is bananas |
| They flip dirty birds, I ain’t talking Atlanta |
| 12 on the block but the radars and scanners |
| I keep my cool, play it smooth and don’t panic |
| Getting my guac up, still got paper habits |
| Gotta get to the bag while the getting good |
| I know they feel this real shit up in every hood |
| From the gutter, I could never turn Hollywood |
| Always keep it 100, that’s understood |
| Talk shit 'bout the villain, they ain’t never could |
| Never took a hand out, still living good |
| Talking all that gansta shit but they never do it |
| Run up on me and mine, boy, I wish you would |
| Gotta second that statement, wish a nigga would |
| Shouldn’t have to explain what’s understood |
| My lil homie run around like Elmer Fudd |
| Year-round man-down season in my neighbourhood |
| Pass another wood |
| Couple homies passed and finished with the juug |
| Couples models finished, mommys fuck a good |
| Plug it low, these boujee bitches 'cause I could |
| True that, move back |
| Hear 'who that?' |
| for weeks |
| Still got low that you never seen |
| Still got flows that you never schemed |
| Double entendres, don’t miss the metaphor |
| Her daddy was the plug, that’s what I met her for |
| Took a Uber down to the 7th Ward |
| Hustling everywhere, can’t keep still |
| Made 6 figures with my old G |
| Real nigga off a handshake deal |
| Kush car still structuring the landscape still |
| My fans stay real, my hands so ill |