Print

Yeah, yeah White tee clean, I be lookin' clean I be lookin' G, I be rollin' in a Beam', yeah Haha, woah, ah, hahaha I feel like, I feel like I'm in 2— (Yeah, okay) Red Motorola and the mink for my holster Diamonds got—, yeah Yeah Red Motorola and the mink for my holster Trunk fit with the Bapestas like I'm Weezy It's 2005, dancing like I'm Chris Breezy Scoping out treetop (Top), you can't even see me Okay, the gun's on the table, just pick the toolie up That's what's up, posted in the cut, smoke you like a blunt Yeah, fuck you, nigga, you a bitch and your bitch a cunt All these niggas fakin' for the 'Gram, it's a front Okay, I know you don't got my back, bro I work hard every day, I'm alone And what you call is hell, I call home I put that shit on my back, but that shit breakin' my bones Now watch your tone, texts are blowin' up my phone I'm in a different zone, I'm the realest one, I'm not a clone And every time I pray to God, I'm always on my knees Letras de cancionesI look up at the sky, "Take the pain away, please" Wash away my sins with the Henny and the gin Fuck a therapist, bitch, I take it on the chin (Fuck) Thought you was my friend, bitch, thought you was my kin I'm ridin' down to London, bitch, catch me in the ends I don't follow trends (Nope), I don't make amends Life is what you make it, but I can make it end I close the Rolls Royce, hear the flames through my voice I always been a soldier, I ain't never had a choice Red Motorola and the mink for my holster Trunk fit with the Bapestas like I'm Weezy It's 2005, dancing like I'm Chris Breezy Scoping out treetop (Top), you can't even see me Okay, the gun's on the table, just pick the toolie up That's what's up, posted in the cut, smoke you like a blunt Yeah, fuck you, nigga, you a bitch and your bitch a cunt All these niggas fakin' for the 'Gram, it's a front Okay, I know you don't got my back, bro I work hard every day, I'm alone And what you call is hell, I call home I put that shit on my back, but that shit breakin' my bones From Letras Mania