album cover
artist
KENN APOLLO
LEVEL 3.0.0.0
10
Hip-Hop/Rap
LEVEL 3.0.0.0 foi lançado em 31 de outubro de 2025 por NON ORDINAIRO como parte do álbum L!$TEN W!TH CAUT!ON
album cover
ÁlbumL!$TEN W!TH CAUT!ON
Data de lançamento31 de outubro de 2025
EditoraNON ORDINAIRO
Melodicidade
Acústica
Valência
Dançabilidade
Energia
BPM75

DESCRIÇÃO GERAL

LETRA

Créditos

PERFORMING ARTISTS
KENN APOLLO
KENN APOLLO
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Alfredo James Pacino
Alfredo James Pacino
Lyrics
Antonio Bradshaw
Antonio Bradshaw
Lyrics
LeBron Raymone James Sr.
LeBron Raymone James Sr.
Lyrics
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
KENN APOLLO
KENN APOLLO
Producer
Dillon Benjamin
Dillon Benjamin
Producer

Letra

God level
God level
Big door
Hall levels
Big bags
Hall metals
Fast lane
No pedals
Dark tint
No schedule
Ten toes
Won’t settle
Ice cold
All kettles
God level
God level
Big up stick my partner
Hit that lick no problem
Whip too fast no honda
 Plug talk back in ghana
Took that trip no sponsor
Brick so white it's contra
Ran through packs like contra
Beam on top that llama
Drip on drip no water
 Stay on go no drama
VVS dance like salsa
Shoot like I'm from sparta
Trap jump hard no harder
Came up now I’m smarter
 Stick talk sound like carter
Chrome on me no armor
Boom boom that’s that shot
Boom Boom ran his spot
Boom Boom don’t get got
Boom Boom masked up glock
Boom Boom wrist on flock
Boom Boom paid that cost
If his ass get caught
You know that’s that shot
“Umm mother fucker, that’s an mother fucking shot ****, shit over the trees huh”
Bro he sip that hemron
Wrist too cold that gem on
Blick don’t talk no incom
 Streets too loud I been on
Spent that check no coupon
Shooter move like recon
Face get lit no neon
Everybody know what we on
How the fuck you gon kill for your brother if the killer ain’t dead yet
Sayin all that pain in your heart but your eyes don’t shed sweat
How you claim you slid for the block but your feet ain’t bled yet
 All them lies sound good in the stu but your opps ain’t fled yet
Tatted up that name on that skin but you ain’t got revenge yet
Talkin all tough all that talk but your post got left on read next
Whole block still waitin on smoke, but your stick ain't revved yet
Momma still be cryin in church but your soul ain't fed yet
Bitch **** what you waitin on my clique make red necks
Catch him lackin broad day now his white tee got red specks
Hollows eat through vests I ain’t impressed with no thread checks
Slid through with that cutter now his face missin like FedEx
If a **** try and get at me we aim straight for his cousin
We don’t do no warnin shots we just up sticks and rush in
Brodie keep that fire tucked he pop out like it’s nothin
All that dissin shit now your auntie miss her youngin
Better watch your words fore your shirt turn to an oven
 I don’t talk bout scores I let killers do the judging
We don’t shoot from far away we like to see who touchin
Blicky got a nose on it i’ll sneeze it like it's snuffin
 I ain’t never call for help I send shooters in dozens
Ain’t no mercy when we come we take lives then we tuck it
Told my youngin if he miss, spin again, no discussion
If he hide out in his mama crib we press the button
Say it's smoke? We gon leave his body slumped and dunk it
You ain’t built? For this side you gon fold under somethin
Opps go ghost! When we slide like they heard death was comin
Glock hit loud! Like thunder we made his soul start jumpin hold on
Written by: Alfredo James Pacino, Antonio Bradshaw, LeBron Raymone James Sr.

Rodapé Shazam

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