[Intro: Vince Staples] I feel like the Tom Sawyer for real niggas Looking for a problem, revolver under the Hilfiger No bluff needed, we will kill niggas So try me if you want, bruh, I promise I'm with all of that Late night shooters, got 'em thinking Johnny Carson back Trying to win this white man game with my heart attack All off a dollar and a dream that I really had Kind of hard to sleep when your thoughts is in the streets North north is the side where my family stay Big Baby Jesus, I can't wait Money coming in, spend it all on guns and rims I ain't nothing but a nigga, ain't no reason to pretend
[Verse 1: Earl Sweatshirt] Kept the sticky in the Stussy pouch Ski mask, bloody 'Preme hoodie tossing doobies out The window of the hoopty, night black as Paul Mooney at the movies but the moon was out Food was always optional Eating nothing but hard punches to that abdominal Closed fist chronicles, sole sniff momma knew Baggies laying 'round, peanut shells at a carnival Stomping clowns, welcome pussy niggas to the romper room Buckshot'll cover a whole torso like a parka do In a park at 2 clock trying to guard her loot Split it with his big roll dog, call him Marmaduke Searching for a shard of truth and found uh Couple bucks bought his cousins lunch Another Dutch, stiff collar on the button-up Hood, rich, wild, and 'bout to run amuck Road to hell paved with cement, cut the trucks and drugs, toughen up
[Hook] x2 Alright, okay If that's how you truly feel about it then
[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt] Vinny Stape, they stupid, think the city safe Into that little bendy place, head shots, red dot Block as hot as Denny plates, fed watch, Fed watch Opinions only pity based, deep in the Civic with the Evilest niggas this side of the Mississippi All courtesy of Vincent from niggas who plot a ditch Ear-L-double-S, hear shells from the Tec Hear rim full-effect, eat a dick and cut a check, bitch Few niggas I'm on a first-name basis with Address me by the alias, that trunk weighted like he 'Bout to catch a case again, Ace louder than the voice of Satan that be plaguing him, bruh, I'm caking Whether Hell or bad weather, high water, I'm a sailor-type Assailant for the paper, living like I met the maker twice Hit it 'til I'm faded right? Mami, take a hike And treat it like you fucking shaking dice, bitch
[Hook]Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
