Nobody's Smiling

Album: Nobody's Smiling (2014)
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  • Don't stop
    Getting their trap
    Hand in the pot
    Baby that'll do it

    I'm from Chicago, nobody's smiling
    Niggas wyling on Stoney Island
    Where the chief and the president come from
    Pop out, pop pills, pop guns
    On the deck when the ops come
    Pop some, ops run
    This ain't a game nigga, ain't no options
    Nigga selling on the block like an auction
    Dig into my pockets, see a profit
    Where the money and the bitches is where the guys is
    Godfathers in a loches, at the spot holding money like a hostage
    She went ostrich, from the projects with posture
    I draw with the goddess like an artist
    Getting paper with no margins, money gods
    I do it for Hadiya and Trayvon Martin

    In the Chi ain't a damn thing funny
    Thinking of ways to get money
    Drive down Lake Shore, scheming how to make more
    If we ain't eating together what is this cake for
    Ain't nobody giving it, that's what we take for
    Niggas is broke, what I need to brake for
    Glaciers of ice, lazers and lice
    Let the chains glow heavy, we paid for em twice
    Made for the life, all out like we out of bounds
    Bars and guns, niggas got a lot of rounds
    Tripping like you from out of town
    The four pound will leave you on the ground without a sound
    Ain't no fathers round, sons of anarchy
    Fighting attempts, trafficking, and grand larceny
    At the party with the thots with the extra body
    I'm in the inner city, it's an out of body experience

    Face on T-shirts with no hashtags
    Just big ass trash bags tagged hash
    Out here sipping trill
    Fake ass gangster, quick to take a fag's cash
    Five versus six, Star Wars
    No stickers, real bullet holes in car doors
    Out of ten people that was shot, 7 ate 9's
    Two trey 8's, and one 45
    Tryna get to 23, numbers game
    Then here come the fame
    But they won't say no names
    Are these celebrities way too shy to be loyal to the town
    I take my publishing check and spread my royalties around
    Popes, bishops, disciples, stones
    Counts, princes, lords, queens and kings
    They drilling on my land but ain't no order to be found
    I might be part of the problem
    I guess they just tryna prove they can back that shit up
    Most of them can't even moonwalk
    My little cousin bum jay don't know what he did when he introduced that goon talk
    Is there a Scarface casting at the crib I don't know about?
    So many shortys have tried out for the role
    That's why he slide out and ride out with the pole
    Now I see how my daddy felt the dark day he
    Discovered that black power didn't keep the lights on
    Right on, the dearly departed still rapping to you
    Looking for some yellow, white, red, black, brown flesh to write on
    How long will they mourn me after I'm out of mind, out of sight, gone
    A crash, a head on collision affects both riders the most
    Good music in the building, yeah we got ghost riders
    They just actually ghosts Writer/s: ERNEST WILSON, LONNIE RASHID LYNN, MALIK YUSEF EL SHABA JONES, N UNKNOWN WRITER
    Publisher: BMG Rights Management, REACH MUSIC PUBLISHING, Universal Music Publishing Group
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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