Letra

This is what I want you to do, right? Take your shoes off Goddamn ground is holy, I understand that Give me strength Lord, Lord Give me strength, give me strength Give me strength Lord My choice was the streets, kinda came natural to me So I'm fishin', trouble comes I'm dishin' out some shots from the doctor's gun Got me trapped in this world under this moon and sun Shit ain't fun or funny, fuck a smile, it's 'bout collectin' money I'm tryin' to take better care of my body this quarter Doctor say drink more water but Bacardi got you bent in this bitch Life sometimes is like steppin' in some fuckin' house shit Seven years of tears in the game Made me one of the smallest predictors on this Georgia plain In the fields, in the hills, never picked no cotton It's the nigga wit that golden trigga I'm seein' more planes in the sky at night Look like UFO's, think they transportin' dem kilo's The drug cartel has swelled out of proportion On the corner everyday we indorsin' The street life is my life, scratchin' to stay on top I'm rappin' it for my block, Atlanta You betta have some game in yo' veins You betta learn this southern slang That's right, from East Point to Southwest Southwest to East Point, y'all know what it is Come on in I'm hearin' rumors about what yo' clique gone do I stepped up like it was cool and confronted his crew I said, "Now which one of y'all suppose to take me to school?" If you see a lame nigga, nigga take his shoes I'm from East Point, Atlanta, we don't fight by rules You don't know Cool Breeze or lil' Freddy Calhoun In this place, the dirty south, we'll hit ya for a lick Sell you dreams, nice things and it be a box of bricks Most haters, imitators, think they know Cool Breeze Ain't jack but a rat on my East Point cheese I know it irritates yo' ears, how I chop these trees? You nothin' but a lame 'round these EPV's All my enemies who don't know what they jumped in If the doctor came through once, he'll come through again And when look and he ask me where everybody is They didn't believe in your return so they ran for the hills And I still got that same pain in my chest My prescription stress, no cess and wear a Teflon vest And these niggas still try and test Don't even know me or these Georgia plains Boy these grounds are holy
Writer(s): Raymon Murray, Patrick Brown, Rico Wade, Erin Johnson, Frederick Bell Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out