Lyrics
They say Taylor falling off, Well it’s a long drop from the top
Hard enough to make the concrete crack if I flop
And I still got crack on the block
So my income, It come like I’m cashing a lot
A fetish for jewelry your passion is shot
Still, I threaten the jury, Blasting the Glock
See times passing on the clock, I’m tryna take the batteries out
A G until the coroners carry me out
A salary ouch, Hurt a broke nigga’s feeling
We ain’t got college degrees, So my niggas dealing
Four wheel’n the drop, You see the ceiling
This nigga squealing, So we concealing
Only revealing when it comes to dealing with drama
That’s nine llamas to your baby Momma
Shouts to Big Gill, Every dollar he invest
Some niggas talk about, Clef write it on the check
I’m a piano gangsta, I’m just playing with these keys
So much ice on they saying I’m a freeze
Like it’s cold outside, Below zero degrees
Growing up, Niggas on corners they was heroes to me
Ayo, I’m too cool to be a fool, Too fly to even do
Any type of sucker shit, Just look how my hustle groove
I seen a couple crews crumble through the struggle too
Yeah I had to struggle too, Just to get comfortable
Nah that ain’t enough for you, Hip Hop still got love for you
Tryna get something new for the summer group
I play the corner guzzle’n brews, Honies with hair do’s
That stop stare and smile at my dudes
Since days one-four-two break bread, I’m the state champ
World wide, Can enter passport, Ain’t scared
Now it’s back to Park Hill, I’m Shaolin’s finest
So now when they speak to me it’s pardon me your highness
Inside of me feel like a part of me is dying
Cause I just got word that my Grandfather dying
So I’m still in the studio writing these hits
While niggas in the business still biting my shit
Might see me with Yung Budd, Hoes say I’m a young stud
Most niggas yelling one blood, I’m yelling one dove
It takes one slug to put you under the rug
Under a house, Picture a corpse covered with bugs
Cause you snitching, Caught, Crib covered with bugs
Not roaches, Speaking CD’s think I’m talking bout drugs
On the phones I ain’t talking bout much
If you hear me saying that we eating listen I ain’t talking bout lunch
Crunch n' Munch breaks the Fruity Pebble chain
Ruby red rains, Kind of like a booty of a dame
Wow, I raise my brow up like The Rock
Still down for a flip I get it twenty a whop
I sell it thirty a pop, But if I bag it
I can make sixty thousand at times, That’s a lot
I guess I’m just a chip off the old block
You know first my Grand Pop’s did it
Then my Pop’s, Now it’s my turn