गाने

CashMoneyAp Young nigga straight out the trenches Could tell I been through it all (Yeah) I knew my life changed, I seen Chico lay on that floor (Yeah) The night my brother died, through out messages, took a tour When I scrolled up, I seen Chic' say "We gon' ball" (Forever) That's how I came up with it, bitches know what's up with it (Yeah) Niggas never fucked with us, niggas, we don't fuck with 'em Voice of the trenches, I swear the people gon' feel me (Yeah, I know) I swear to God it's only right I show the real me (Let's get it) Fuck bein' humble, time to talk my shit (Yeah) You know BM 850? I'ma cop that whip Two man, passenger with me, he 'bout to smoke his zip And we don't argue over bitches Cause they all got clips, you feel me? A buck fifty, you niggas is politickin' Only time that I'm worried is when a dollar go missin' I'm the man now, bet you niggas don't understand now I'm from the 'jects, I know how to break a gram down Arab in the kitchen, I watched how to cook a brick up You gotta know yourself and I wasn't ready to sit up Young nigga, big heart, big world, big sharks If you lose yourself while you in the trenches, you get dogged It's the summer, catch a nigga, indictment with eight chains All them niggas say they tough, but they never put in no pain Always kept it buck fifty, know the streets fuckin' with me Real recognize real and none of you fuckin' with me If niggas want it, they can get it, I'ma put that shit in order My uncle hatin' on me, I'm really feelin' like Porter Older niggas talkin' crazy, I'm really fuckin' they daughters How you feelin', lil' nigga? I'm really feelin' like Porter Any time, get the dice, I don't chill with rats or mice Any nigga wanna battle, that nigga better be nice They all love me, I'm the man, bitches look better on the 'Gram How you likin' on my shit and then say that you got a man? You know summertime in Harlem I'm comin' to make your block hot Crusin' 'round these streets, I'm comin' through in a drop-top Comin' through the east, I be froze but make the spot hot I told my little mans he better not kiss on no thot-thot Yeah, I kept it a buck fifty, nigga Yeah, I know the streets fuckin' with me, nigga Yeah, Harlem, what's up? (Let's do it) I know the streets fuckin' with me, what's up? (Huh)
Writer(s): Alex Christian Jean Petit, Terrence Anthony Reaves Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out