[Intro:] All I keep is real niggas round me I know real niggas that live that life I know real niggas that get that money I know real niggas that talk that talk Young nigga, old soul I'm bout to bring out my nigga Young Breed Listen to me
[Verse 1: Young Breed] I'm on that good kush and alcohol Bitch I think I'm Al Capone I do what the fuck I want You do what the fuck you told You a house nigga, I house niggas You play clean ball, I foul niggas This for all them trill niggas, no deal niggas Just getting it in in the field niggas Them real niggas I vouch for, they can call me at my crib nigga Keep two freaks in my Louie sheet, keep a couple of racks in these Levi jeans Cuban bitch, got a Cuban plug Boy Cuban Links with these Cuban drugs Ramada's, that's where we used to count up all the dollars Que pasa, my chopper always keep away the robbers
[Intermission:] Hold up, you see my nigga Young Breed? He really get that He really talk that He really live that This is Triple C M.M.G. Download to DJ's I'm bout to bring out my nigga Gunplay right now [?], it's a [?] thing nigga Oh get ready for that My nigga Gunplay Step to the mic
[Verse 2: Gunplay] My horoscope, like a horror show My worst fear, palms under oath And pistols jamming, or catching something from your dirty mammy Observe the damage after popping thirty zanie's Niggas green and everything between I keep 'em arms limp just like this beam beam Beam, beam No witness to recite the scene Just a hollow empty magazine So sad it seems Talking shit, what's that about Acting like I'm a lose my title bout I live what I write about Bullshit, that's what all my homies died about Full clip, new stick, I'm bout to try it out
[Intermission:] Stop that You see my nigga Gunplay? You know every word he say is true Ain't no denying that, ain't no doubting that It's Carol City Cartel From M.I.A., all the way to the B.X. Specialist E.N.T., U.F.O. Oh you know how I bring it T.O.
[Verse 3: Torch] Long as my bitches love me, you fuck niggas don't pay me I don't give a fuck bout no hate, two busy counting this paper Long as my bitches love me, I don't give a fuck how y'all feel These niggas ain't never been real, none of y'all niggas gon' pay my bills Seven figures, six ropes Five traps, time to foreclose Three choppers, two hundred low One aim, one more Take yours, get mine right In the jungle you eat what you kill I put you in the soup like Prom Night Just to get another seat for a mill' My nerves bad so I smoke good My bitch bad but she fuck great My rims new, my Chevy old For that engine, bout seven trays Top down so you see me clear Parfait's in my Audemar My bad I met Audemar, might order more with Ross on the [?] Double M, what you know about that On Rodeo, what you know about racks Louie thirteen, what you know about Yack Thirty for the watch so you know I'm strapped But that's a given Tryna' dodge prison J.O.B. just over broke Forty K every month, now that's a livingTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
