Susan's Son

Check

In brutal times I would crucial provide

Daddy told me turn my Nikes to suits and to tie

And now if jobs are out of line I make Lupi go slide

'Cause he can make my pieces fit the part till it's music for life (Yeah, yeah)

If management my leg, my Sus' is the spine

I frolic 'round in wallet, was stupid at times

I leave my ma to fuck with the booty and wine (Uh)

Then I'd come back home and cuss and she'd soothe every cry

That's no lie, bad pains from the bad days

Mumma carried Chill so long, I gave the woman back pains

But now I've rapped so long, I run the fuckin' rap game

Ma give me a year or two I'll probably push this pack strain and get rich

Hundred racks that I made in Japan

Shoutout my brother Ben, he's back and he's blazin' the gram

I ain't really got no strap and that made me a man

I told my label, "Keep the cash, I can pay the advance"

It's 420 fuckin' fam, we don't fuck around

Call Nate, Lupi, Boe (Brothers double down)

Badrapper or my brothers on the buttons now

I built it from the bottom up and real fans are fuckin' proud, that's real talk

I'm always gon' be Susan's son

Let me talk about these fuckin' facts

Ever since this thirty cap was double sized

I lived in brick veneers but hung in dirty traps

Let me keep it real, I would light the Bernie Mac

Was laughin' till I'm high and then I'd die, I go and burn the pack

But fuck drugs (Real talk), 'cause now we tryna burn her back

Now I want my broski up in uni doin' learnin' stats

And now my broski's on the deck and he can burn your track

And he ain't gonna play your clubbin' set unless it's thirty racks (So fuckin' pay)

Lobster's on the table now (Yeah)

Went from mobsters to some doctors at the cable house

Dropped a body bag and started up a label now

And told Virgin, "Fuck all of these virgin rappers, pay me now, I'm blowin' up" (Mmh)

My family's legit with biz

I called some whores I once adored and now I hit and miss

I need a little more, dishes, chores, little kids I adore

Lord, need a family and bigger crib, like dad does

Super smart, stupid dumb

Poppa said, "Fuck 'em all, son, you're still the one"

And I know your group is big and all your groupies fuck

But come back home and get reminded that you're Susan's son

You're Susan's son