[Intro] Six million ways to die (Took a lot to get this Rollie nigga) Six million ways to get rich (Huh, hah)
[Verse 1] Everybody keep tellin' me, "Make a club record. You ain't trappin' no more—stop makin' drug records. You got a daughter 'bout to come—stop makin' thug records." I brought that money back fast, I had the plug flexing Welcome to Harlem, el Barrio, that's the drug section Hit your bitch with my jeans on, ain't making love naked I got love for my loco but I know cuz reckless I ain't gotta sleep in the projects, I did enough stressing My father was a rolling stone but taught me one lesson Do your dirt by yourself, your friends be the ones telling I knew it broke my mother's heart to know her son selling I had coke in my dresser, trifling as ever I had a dream Biggie featured me on Life After I be with my same niggas, I don't really like rappers Niggas can't make a song for nothing but they nice actors Go and get a movie role, low bagging up tuna rolls, raw shit I come from a block where you seen it but never saw shit I be at the juice bar, my wheat grass and bark shit My younging just came from up north, he want to park shit Tryna teach him something bout life and how we started Lower class poverty, homies from jail calling me Playing the number everyday but never hit the lottery Liquor store on every corner, might as well get drunk I remember that free lunch wasn't shooting, we would jump stones Niggas like the end of the blunt, traps load up I told papi I got him by the end of the month I was thinking bout 550's with the cinnamon guts These shots'll blow your mind away, now your memory dust In memory of, I got a JF Kennedy buzz Presidential called enterprise, I need another rental Tryna take a package down to North Carolina Maybe buy some Ferragamo, I'm so focused on the commas
[Hook] If you never been broke it's gon' be hard to feel me Only Allah get my flow, it's gon' be hard to kill me They say practice make perfect, we at it every day Thinking about that consignment, sometimes I never paid It was written I'm gifted, homie come learn something Conversations bout paper homie, let's burn something It was written I'm gifted, homie come learn something Conversations bout paper homie, let's burn something
[Verse 2] It's hard to stop what's already in motion I ain't gotta hit your blunt, I've already been smoking G Star denims on my Shmurda shit In '08 my mental was really on some murder shit Cause nothing was working out Just to pass the time started working out Me and my nigga Jay Black from way back He a Bronx nigga, met him in Queens Butch crib, met up with fiends Imagine Nas signed you, hell of a dream Somebody pinch me Promise nothing they say ever getting to me Used to watch House Party, now Kid N Play listen to me This that talk that make the hustlers want to open shop This that stash house talk, don't let 'em know the spot This that talk that got my city wanting to rap again This that all black everything like an African This that middle of the summer in a trench coat Glock 19 reminding them of how you been broke
[Hook] If you never been broke it's gon' be hard to feel me Only Allah get my flow, it's gon' be hard to kill me They say practice make perfect, we at it every day Thinking about that consignment, sometimes I never paid It was written I'm gifted, homie come learn something Conversations bout paper homie, let's burn something It was written I'm gifted, homie come learn something Conversations bout paper homie, let's burn something
[Outro] I talked my way right up out the projects nigga Put your mind to it, anything is possible haha From a hole in the wall, yeah Now we in the presidential suite man Top floor, fly over your bus, nigga Harlem, yeahTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
