با داستان، مضمون و حس این آهنگ بیشتر آشنا شوید.
Yeah (yeah) | Yeah (uh) | Yeah
Yeah (yeah) Yeah (uh) Yeah Huh Yeah (Cappin'-ass sh-, don't wanna hear none of that shit) (We don't wanna hear that shit no more) on God Uh, yeah Wake up, I'm on the night shift, don't do me wrong Pull up, I need my sidekick, come get me on On, on, turn me on Slow down, follow the process, I'm in the zone One umbrella, two pairs come, you play your rose Euros, really I'm out here, I'm in the pros Black man made it the hard way, he think he Hov So mad looking at my shit, it could be yours 911 fuck a black folk, I got the Porsche Two time felon, behind the gates it's a resort Gotta watch for these devils that steal your shit and get control Careful on that road, dumb little nigga getting low on what he owe While I'm doing what he don't, until then free the locs Another rapper turn joke (joke) Another so-so (goddamn, homie) Nigga, please let it go (let it go) Uh God bless the dead, move from the past, hmm (ay, yeah) Nine million, all cash, hmm (ay, ay) This life my overtime flex (nigga ballin') Fuck, is she satisfied? Yes (oh my) (Break it off the side) (Hate y'all-) no secret, I'm on a roll They played y'all, not with us (do what you're told) Money do cartwheels, backflipping gold I don't take advice from niggas with no hoes (haha) Nigga, you talk so much, you's the hoe I live rent-free, boy, y'all controlled (oh) I need four commas (one in front of zeroes) Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh (su, su, su, suu) Wake up, hop out the phone booth, I'm on the way Grew up on Figueroa Street, I saw the blade Little ol' scrawny nigga for sure was catching fades Raised by all women and still I never caved Took it three times, extended from greatness, I display Home of the brave, ran by the slaves Stole everybody name so white Jesus on the chain I feel proud when it hangs Try to hide from the fame and still came with a bang I'm a Figg nigga, turned a black cloud to a flame I'm a big wheelie, stomach full, mouth full of paint It was God-given, little nigga took it too far I'm a lone star, street-smart, and I'm book-smart That's the dope part, uh, yeah Look at my report card Boy, was supposed to hit the four-yard A man supposed to have scars (ayy) Nigga, it ain't that hard When I'm grooving in the NASCAR To Hoover Street, I'm Mozart Boy, living on a postcard Smooth steering for the hard R Fuck y'all (my nig-) Yeah They thought I was crazy Haha, they said I was cra- They thought I was crazy
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