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No, it's no use to pretend We reeled them in like a tackle box Always hoping the future will somehow come right in the end And all he felt afterwards was the aftershock No, it's no use to pretend I be sparring with my demons when I shadow-box Always hoping the future will somehow come right in the end Eight after ten PM That moosey got the hairy frog This the brictionary, my life is a bitch, I'm fucking missionary Thousand caskets of the tape, pockets like a cemetery Facing felon in possession, no attempt to carry Pulled up like the ice-cream man, trunk full of Ben & Jerrys Two-way, Dulce Siete, you know we legendary Repping shit so much, they thinking I was born in February But I wasn't Me selling dope, getting money, shit was hereditary Way I fell back and I played the corner like the secondary This the Shapiro show, mixed with the weekend at the Perry's All my fiends tweaking, look like Tyrone or Ashley Larry Roll up in dope, take a few toasts before I ask the cherry Your bitch trying to drive the boat, but I prefer she catch the ferry Letras de cancionesIt ain't no use in pretending, you never had to spare me Never tried to hear me 'til you heard me on the track with Harry Neighbors calling the hook on me, still in the trap with Terry Ducking officer Mahoney, Hightower and Tackleberry Skitty We reeled them in like a tackle box And all he felt afterwards was the aftershock Oh, it's no use to pretend I be sparring with my demons when I shadow-box Always hoping the future would somehow come right in the end 8 after 10 p.m., can't set this on no Apple watch I was waiting on that bag to drop Dump an orange pill in same color as a apricot Quick to get a nigga spilt Playing "Simon Says", peppered the driver's side Left his windshield spider-weared I'm in the field in real life, this ain't no Pop Warner Was trying to trade on thin ice, now we in hot water I upped the pole and ate a stick out like a flash water Freezing cold, hell-sleet snow come hella hot water Me and my niggas paid away, was left in jail to rot With 50 different shades of gray like welcome to the Milton Pot 7-6 and on that drug zone, it's the hell and blot Pulling all-nighters, catching pop, this shit don't never stop First time I seen Khabrik's a dog, I was a ready rock The 30 is thinning, but the clip in my Mac 11 stopped Popped up his bro, don't even know if he was dead or not While most of these niggas be toting guns if they ain't never shot On game Oh, it's no use to pretend We reeled them in like a tackle box Always hoping the future will somehow come right in the end And all he felt afterwards was the aftershock Oh, it's no use to pretend I be sparring with my demons when I shadow-box Always hoping the future will somehow come right in the end 8 after 10 p.m., can't set this on no album racks From Letras Mania