Here am I, bake bread on my face
|
Here am I, bake bread on my face
|
Not to... my eyes, pity lies,
|
And many hundred miles away from you tonight
|
|
Woke up, yawning from a sour nap
|
Slept for an hour and I'm proud of that
|
Hit my nigga Kwan, he inside the trap
|
Told him I'm on my way, get the slime for mac
|
Hit the shower and recite a rap
|
Throwing some get fresh audi in the hour flat
|
Big boy merm smelling like a sour pack
|
Kryptonite, that superman if he wants his powers back
|
Around the scratch, like I got an itch
|
In the jets with my straps and he got a pitch
|
Take him cross the map whenever I got a trip
|
Don't gotta trip, we gonn be rich with a lot of chicks
|
I'ma spit for them niggas that can't but wish that they could
|
So they can ball and sit in that paint
|
Try to change a nigga ways all you get is restraint
|
But once you get a nigga paid, all his feelings just plaint
|
Real talk, I seen still spark, bodies on the floor, outline, real chalk
|
Squally knocking down doors, when them deals talk
|
You ain't a pig, what you squeal for?
|
Huh, Shit it's messy zoo, how the special do
|
Turn the close friend, to a vestibule
|
Got my man doing time in this federal
|
If he said he do then I bet he do
|
|
Here am I, bake bread on my face
|
Not to... my eyes, pity lies,
|
And many hundred miles away from you tonight
|
|
I got that type of royal bubble that will get us all in trouble
|
I do it for the hood where the only choice is hustle
|
Roll's boy in the world, come and snore the couple
|
I got that boy and that girl, come and snore the couple
|
I was born to ball nigga you ain't known at all
|
Follow protocol, well I'm the pro to call
|
When you need someone to tighten up a rookie
|
You gamble with your life, I'm surprised you ain't a bookie
|
Cut the foolery, cause obviously you pussy
|
Ain't no schooling me, you'll think that god was playing hockey
|
Liver than I should be, you looking at a spitter
|
You tryina see a woosy, then look into a mirror
|
Nigga I'm the answer, how could you be a killer
|
Last time you had the hammer, you was putting up a picture
|
A picture?
|
You talking bout you got work on the block, that don't cut it here
|
You must work at the shop
|
It ain't worth it so stop, you really hurting the pots
|
I done dealt with so much bricks that I should work with my shop
|
You ain't never wait in the hole, but wait in the hall
|
Go into a sneaker box just to make a withdrawal
|
You ain't never creped the block when they take it to war
|
And forever squeezing shot you go straight to that law
|
So dog, what you tryina sell? You know right or well
|
Yellow rollie on, only time will tell
|
I ain't with the foolery you spitting
|
I took a listening, you a waste of studio equipment
|
Huh, who got a swag excellent like me
|
I should put you in a bag, you will never be a g, writer!
|
|
Here am I, bake bread on my face
|
Not to... my eyes, pity lies,
|
And many hundred miles away from you tonight.
|
|
-----------------
|
Here Am I
|
| JR Writer |
