Marathon Racing

Ooh, ooh

Yeah, yeah

Squires has done it again

Ooh, takes a lotta patience (Patience), yeah, yeah, yeah

We ain't sprintin', we marathon racin', (Racin') ooh, ooh, ooh

You ain't getting no piece of my paycheck (Paycheck), no, no, no

When I hit that finish line, all that shit gonna be mine, yeah

Aww, gimme my loot plus my basket full of fruit and my parachute

I'm floatin' into my casket, slowly wearin' a suit

In other words, miss me with that whole spiel

I'ma live my life blissfully, for real

Yo, this game will take a toll on you, it's stamina based

Door after door after door will slam in your face (Damn)

Disappointment is the dish that they serve every day for lunch (Damn)

You'll stick around if you can handle the taste (Yeah)

And keep your eye out for the snakes that are lurkin'

Don't even acknowledge 'em, whistle while you workin' (Uh-huh)

Whole world's set up by the thieves tryna rob you

Shit is not fair, but it's not new, got a mob too, uh

I'm in the game, livin' life and makin' plans

I ain't trippin' 'bout the type of fans fightin' in the stands

Focused on the fam' and the life that's in my hands

If you fixated on your phone, then you might not understand

Ooh, takes a lotta patience (Patience, patience), yeah, yeah, yeah

We ain't sprintin', we marathon racin', (Racin') ooh, ooh, ooh

You ain't getting no piece of my paycheck (Paycheck), no, no, no

When I hit that finish line, all that shit gonna be mine, yeah

Everybody talkin' 'bout burnin' down Babylon

Ain't nobody gonna strike a match, no, no

I've been in the game long enough to meet the devil

A California boy with a sack, oh-oh, oh

He wanna buy your name (Damn), change your sound (What?)

Dress you up, make you his clown (Not me)

Pimp you out around his town (Fuck this)

Cash your checks to shine his crown

Cornball, making phone calls, never slept in the back of a van (Facts)

Suck a D-I-C in the VIP, talking shit that he don't understand (What?)

He's never been a part of a band, he's never built it up with his hands

Stuck in the gram, cookin' up plans, calling up data instead of the fans

Calling up players instead of the fam', he don't understand

But I understand it ain't about fans, they're makin' their bands

Money, power, pussy hits you harder than cocaine

But we built up this house you rent, don't end up in the rain

Ooh, takes a lotta patience (Patience), yeah, yeah, yeah

We ain't sprintin', we marathon racin' (Racin'), ooh, ooh, ooh

You ain't getting no piece of my paycheck (Paycheck), no, no, no

When I hit that finish line, all that shit gonna be mine, yeah (Yeah, yeah)