Drive Slow / Taste Like Heaven (feat. Xian Bell)

Yeah Bunta-bunta-bunta-bunt-bunta-bunta-bunt(ha-ha) My grandfather used to tell me like The good die young, everything he said proven Ever since Del died, they got my head ruined My prayers go out to his loved ones, I'm sittin' here fucked up Can't remember the last thing that I said to him, man this shit crazy Wasn't the closest, nah, but every meet was special Got me recruitin' shit, we almost shared a team together Worked on our jumper, cone drills, we shared our dream together And now that nigga gone, but I mean whatever Not a disrespectful whatever, more like "REASON, you never Made the effort, and now you preachin' that he's special'" Touché, those hypocritical lies These my thoughts while in traffic, takin' off my nigga tie It's been a long day, but tomorrow I'm paid Been slavin' and workin' hard, prayin' I get a raise This that drive slow music In traffic textin' bitches from your iPhone music You text, you wanna see her, she like, "I know stupid" Instantly you think about how loud She be screamin' when you diggin' her out You in the hood, you could've been plottin' how to get out But you text your address, now her nigga in route So drive slow, you never know (drive slow, drive) Cause nowadays hitches fuck niggas to get some dough (drive, drive) And everybody itching to figure a way to blow As long as you chasing money you won't lose a single hoe, my nigga Drive slow (Drive slow, drive slow, drive slow) Look, you never know, homie, about these hoes, homie You need to pump your brakes nigga Free my nigga Fonz, he taught me this rap shit at an early age The pressure from it can send you into an early grave Be dead tired tryna make a living from it Get the little things, take it and get bigger from it Niggas runnin' the game with catchy Beats and labels that don't do shit Put every dollar behind it to push your new shit Praying the right night hear it to make a couple of bands I swear this shit feel like it's higher stakes than Ruth's Chris And label beatings like you know that I'm spitting I know that they listen, they know every lyric, and they respond like "REASON, dye your hair, they gotta know that you different" I know my presence lacking but you know that I'm gifted I'm tryna kill these niggas My name should be ringin', I need that bell from niggas But being real, I don't put enough to myself here Gotta figure out a way to make music they wanna play 'Cause niggas quit their dreams everyday and press play And drive slow, you never know (drive slow, drive) Cause nowadays hitches fuck niggas to get some dough (drive, drive) And everybody itching to figure a way to blow As long as you chasing money you won't lose a single hoe, my nigga Drive slow (Drive slow, drive slow, drive slow) Look, you never know, homie, about these hoes, homie You need to Take 'em to church Whoo-hoo-hoo Gettin' out on a Sunday, it's so sweet (so, so, so, so) Tastes like a little bit of heaven Whoo-hoo-hoo Gettin' out on a Sunday, it's so sweet baby (so soulful, so soulful) Tastes like a little bit of heaven Look, what you know 'bout bein' the Coldest nigga killin' shit filled with gold And everything you said was platinum, but ain't no records sold Been tryna get my name a ring (a ring) but ain't no one proposed I swear that nigga you've been waitin' for right under your nose Look I've been doing a lotta thinkin' homie Wish I had a dollar for every time niggas was sleepin' on me (snooze) No new friends, no, no, no, no, last thing I need is homies Cause my crew tighter than virgin pussy Lately been curvin' groupies and bitches I Wanted to toss me ass now they throwin' pussy Man that shit crazy, look, my girl don't want me to catch stacks When every move can change your life, then every step's a death trap Niggas claim they flow is nice But nigga I'm screamin' let's test that 'Cause I swear I don't believe these niggas Be anything in the world, but I don't wanna be these niggas I make my music for the streets, I'm tryna reach these niggas Hey you be my family tree and I can't leave my niggas, that's leavin' tree Best out, shit you could bet that, uh Mil huntin' Comin' after meals like wet naps, work too hard to be set back From rookie Kobe air ballin' to Becomin' nicer than Paul Pierce with a step back So limits, we gon' test that They gotta know we were sent here to be kings They gotta know we [Yo, yo, P, I think this is the spot Think this is the spot. Pass me that real quick (Oh this definitely the spot They got strobe lights out here? Flo got us at the disco) Nigga, it's some bitches at this one. I can't wait (Look at the disco nigga. This nigga IT was dancin' on niggas.) Fuck IT, this shit does look lit out here Let me throw my shit in the trunk too, let's go Yeah, yeah, P, pass me your shit- Paul Gimme your shit too. We'll put it all in the trunk]