I am the streets, the future I introduce you to Ace Hood, Meek Mills Big Sean, Wale, Vado, this the future They gettin' money, they makin' hit records, they hustlin'
Okay now Khaled told me kill 'em, he just told me kill 'em Hundred for the Beamer, Kudos for the dealer Murder, bet I wrote it, Kudos to the killer Chevy sittin' crooked, teeth on Reggie Miller I'm a motherfuckin' beast, see me in your sleep Nightmare on any street, swear I will mark any beat Spread this to the industry, lyrics like a chopper piece Flow right through your fitted T, pull this through with chemistry Hottest nigga 'round, they saying greatness is my tendency No such thing as sympathy, more money, my remedy Pockets on, heavy D, bitch I'm hot, third degree Whip I drive? Owned by me, wrists and neck, anti-freeze Can it be? I'm who you dying to be' Last of a dying breed, I'm Siamese Twin pistol shooter nigga like a 7B Big dog, get it, you still on your pedigree Yeah, fly nigga with some stupid swag Dead faces keep my money in the body bag And the G-U-T-T-A, hops in the whip and I gotta get paid Fuck them bitches, ain't trying to get laid Walk in my house you can meet my maid And you give a damn you can push that Lac Push that Benz on, push that 'Lade, hop to the whip No top on mine, hear a nigga hate, man fuck them guys Real nigga shit, don't tell no lie Private plane, my seat recline, top 10 charts, where I reside Got me a house ?
We the muthafuckin best, word to my mama Ridin' presidential, got me feeling like Obama 'Cause all I want is change And my niggas they wanted the same I wanted the money and never the fame I turned into something they never became Through all the rain, I kept my flame And I kept burning and its my turn and Real nigga my hood confirm it Now it's 6 2's on closed curtains And that Maybach, let me take em way back When I was starving that was payback Nigga where that cake at? Murder all your artists And I, I, I, I can feel that love, But I feel that hate When I got that ? I just feel so safe I put it to your mug, you ain't gon' wake When that thing gon' fly Got a little kick, but it ain't no tired Niggas talk murder, but they ain't gon ride Now we goin' hard like I ain't gonna die Meek Mill!
Do it! OK Smoke until I got no lungs Got her going down, no teeth I call it "speaking tongues" Do it! Do it! Now you speaking my language From where they twist and talk with they fingers Man but this ain't no sign language Fresh out of the ashes This a Detroit fucking classic from when MM got the masses Trick Trick got them passes Bitch I'm from the Motor, Motor Yeah that motor be the fastest bitch, They call it Motor City 'Cause you're most likely to crash (fuck it) Good thing I got a chauffeur Going broke? No sir! Bitch I'm the rap game stylist, 'Cause I gave the rap game style bitch But I over shine, ain't no niggas over Sean Toll rollin by the quarter so I guess we're going overtime. 'Til we're Dumb high, dumb high Westside, bitch I run mine I'm rolling around in my old school, I feel like the alumni Fucking hoes, no strings attached So don't ask me why they strung out I'm like Jordan to you niggas I might even stick my tongue out She wiggled and wobble, bobbled Then landed on my throttle Bitch, I might make you my baby And even buy you a bottle Yo niggas don't ask how the top feel? When you keep em' right beside you My pockets got paper on paper This shit just look like a novel boy 100 thousand worth of ice on me now But it don't feel half as good As grandma saying she's proud
Forever dedicated, Maybach poetic genius Some think they close to seeing me Tell em they close to Stevie You poser niggas ain't supposed to be here We don't believe ya. Double MG'er, we put a wreath on niggas' careers We the best, Khaled No need to stress, Khaled Know there's a lot of artists But I got the best palette Multiple colors, my mind's more productive than others Murray the winner, he think he really Nelson Mandela That's fire though. One time for the 305, though That hydro make me tired, yo My kickin be so Tai Bo! My balance be so tight rope That's hard to find Quick Tri-Flow Get rough With me, that Night flow Hoes blow for me, I maestro, shit That white whip sit Like a slight wrist slit Suicide shit, you can by shit if you write this shit Nigga and right this minute, they say I'm buzzing hard My driver's out of this world, you playing bumper cars. You niggas under-cards You should be unemployed All you smoke is Reggie, I'm in the telly bunch of noise Who gon' tell me that I ain't going or I ain't flowin' Young Folarin, you see them puters That was my influence
The towers fell, turning to Ground Zero Kids didn't like Reggie Jackson Nicki Barnes their hero As I play Rothstein, Corleone like Rob De Niro Been through it but here though Don't move with the weirdos Dress pimpin' the toast like let's win Penthouses on West and 4th, pipes and Mac 6 While me in a Maserati bricking his best friends When I die, tell them to turn my coffin to stretch Benz rims on it Problems? My man's on, see him, we stomp him out His mouth, our Timbs' on it Always smoking a ounce, a mountain, no tens on it Spins on it, you have no clout, the Benz on it What the fiends say? Few roaches, you need spray, on tours, eat straight Making sure all your feet sprayed Get the pills through, peel through SRT-8 truck on, seats gray Drop tops like release dates, Vado
Writer/s: MATTHEW SAMUELS, SEAN ANDERSON, KHALED KHALED, OLUBOWALE VICTOR AKINTIMEHIN, ANTOINE MCCOLISTER, J. THOMPSON, ROBERT WILLIAMS, TEEYON WINFREE, Richard Jon White, Christopher Frederick Thompson, Julie Elaine Claytor, Mark Gaudet
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