Lucky You

Album: Kamikaze (2018)
Charted: 6 6
  • Whoa, Joyner, Joyner, yeah, yeah, yeah
    Yeah, I done did a lot of things in my day, I admit it
    I don't take back what I say, if I said it then I meant it
    All my life I want a Grammy but I'll prolly never get it
    I ain't never had no trophy or no motherfuckin' ribbon
    Fuck the system, I'm that nigga, bend the law, cut the rules
    I'm about to risk it all, I ain't got too much to lose
    Y'all been eatin' long enough, it's my turn to cut the food
    Pass the plate! Where my drink? This my day, lucky you
    Fuck you too, woah!

    Y'all gotta move, y'all gotta move, y'all gotta move
    Give me some room, give me some room, give me the juice
    Hop out the coupe, hop out the coupe, hop out and shoot
    Y'all gotta move, y'all gotta move, give me the juice

    Back on my bullshit, my back to the wall
    Turn my back on you all and you're finished
    Back to these bullets, it's back to the job
    Pull my MAC out and all of you runnin'
    Back on my hood shit, it's back to the pushin'
    These packs and I'm actually pumpin'
    Can't fuck with you rappers, you practically suckin'
    You mighta went platinum, but that don't mean nothin'
    I'm actually buzzin' this time
    Straight out the kitchen, I told them the oven is mine
    I do not fuck with you guys
    If I don't kill you, just know you gon' suffer this time
    I ain't no gangster, but I got some bangers
    Some chains and some blades and a couple of knives
    Choppers and jammies, a partridge, a pear tree
    My twelve days of Christmas was nothin' but lies
    I, run at you hard like a sumo (sumo)
    They say I talk like a chulo (chulo)
    I live in Mars, I'm not Bruno
    Bitch I'm a dog, call me Cujo
    You play your cards, I reverse on you all
    And I might just draw four like a Uno
    Cállate boca mejor maricón little puto, and all of you culo
    They debated the level, I've been to ghetto to ghetto
    Looking for something I prolly could never find now
    Shit get real up until the beef die down
    In truth a nigga just really want me tied down
    I've been alone, and I never needed nobody
    Just only me and my shotty, I'll tell these niggas to lie down
    Keep all the money, I never wanted the lifestyle
    I just pray to God that my son'll be alright now
    I said ain't no love for the other side
    Or anyone who ever want smoke
    When I die I'm goin' out as the underdog who never lost hope
    You in the wrong cab down the wrong path
    Nigga wrong way, wrong road
    Snakes in the grass, tryna slither fast
    I just bought a fuckin' lawn mower

    I done said a lotta things in my day, I admit it
    This is payback in a way, I regret it that I did it
    I done won a couple Grammys, but I sold my soul to get 'em
    Wasn't in it for the trophies, just the fuckin' recognition
    Fuck's the difference?
    I'm that cracker, bend the law, fuck the rules
    Man I used to risk it all, now I got too much to lose
    I been eatin' long enough, man my stomach should be full
    I just ate, lick the plate, my buffet, lucky me
    Fuck you think? (Woo!)

    I got a couple of mansions
    Still I don't have any manners
    You got a couple of ghost writers
    But to these kids it don't actually matter
    They're askin' me "What the fuck happened to hip-hop?"
    I said "I don't have any answers"
    'Cause I took an L when I dropped my last album
    It hurt me like hell but I'm back on these rappers
    And actually coming from humble beginnings
    I'm somewhat uncomfortable winning
    I wish I could say "What a wonderful feeling!"
    We're on the upswing like we're punchin' the ceiling
    But nothin' is feeling like anyone has any fuckin' ability
    To even stick to a subject, it's killin' me, the inability to pin humility
    Hatata batata, why don't we make a bunch of fuckin'
    Songs about nothin' and mumble!
    And fuck it, I'm goin' for the jugular
    Shit is a circus, you clowns that are comin' up
    Don't give an ounce of a motherfuck
    About the ones that were here before you that made rap, let's recap
    Way back, MC's that wreak havoc on tape decks
    ADATs, where the G Raps and Kanes at?
    We need 3 Stacks ASAP, and bring Masta Ace back
    Because half of these rappers have brain damage
    All the lean rappin', face tats, syruped out like tree sap
    I don't hate trap, and I don't wanna seem mad
    But in fact, where the old me at? The same cat that would take that
    Feedback and aim back, I need that
    But I think it's inevitable
    They know what button to press or what lever to pull
    To get me the snap though (lil' bitch)
    And if I pay it attention I'm probably makin' it bigger
    But you've been takin' the dicks
    In the fuckin' back, ho (get it?)
    On the brink, any minute
    Got me thinkin' of finishin' everything
    With acetaminophen and reapin' the benefits
    I'm asleep at the wheel again
    As I peak into thinkin' about an evil intent
    Of another beat, I'ma kill again
    'Cause even if I gotta end up eatin' a pill again
    Even ketamine or methamphetamine
    With the minithin, it better be at least 70 to 300 milligram
    And I might as well 'cause I'ma end up bein' a villain again
    Levels to this shit I got an elevator
    You could never say to me I'm not a fuckin' record breaker
    I sound like a broken record every time I break a record
    Nobody could ever take away the legacy I made, I never cater
    Motherfucker now I got a right to be this way
    I got spite inside my DNA
    But I wrote 'til the wheels fall off, I'm workin' tirelessly, ayy
    It's the moment y'all been waitin' for
    Like California wishin' rain would pour
    And that drought y'all have been prayin' for
    My downfall from the 8 Mile to the Southpaw
    Still the same Marshall that outlaw
    That they say as a writer might've fell off
    I'm back on that bull like the cowboy

    So y'all gotta move (yeah), y'all gotta move (yeah), y'all gotta move
    Give me some room, give me some room, give me the juice
    Hop out the coupe, hop out the coupe, how 'bout I shoot?
    Y'all gotta move, y'all gotta move, give me the juice Writer/s: Gary Lucas, Jahaan Sweet, Marshall Mathers, Matthew Samuels, Ray Illya Fraser
    Publisher: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group, RESERVOIR MEDIA MANAGEMENT INC
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind


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