Culture (Deluxe Version)
Fantasizing about the high life
In a hammock chugging a High Life
At my pinnacle thinking about the timeline
Unidentical visuals, fuck the guidelines
Ooh, yeah nigga it's rhyme time
I tried to tell them don't tit-for-tat with the twilight
She on the dresser I cracked the treasure while under pressure
As I undress her she moaning whatever, then she told me
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
Intuition to strengthen a niggas' inner vision
Really feeling the void avoiding an intervention
Feeling villainous on a voyage for joy in Venice
Young ventriloquist with the rhythm & sentences
Synthesizers etc., meddling with the melodies
Marinate & amphetamines swimming all in my blood stream
I fuck with the thrill of it, its a Junk thing
I be seeing shit differently when the mud pink
You can find all my enemies in a mud bank
Cuzzo know what it's finna be we don't duck
Ain't no acting too freindly with my funds
I'ma run a muck like a centipede on the track
We gone enter your system we taking over your trap
Me, I'm the ticket to get your interest in rapping
About the premise the chemist went through apprentice
Experiments with the essence the second it went to relish
We try finessing progressing like playing Tetris
Suppressing the situation with lessons
When you address me the greatest of celebration will take into expectation
I'm racing, chasing with patience that led to the placement
I'm pacing like Pacers getting the good life
I'm aching, craving to capture haven above life
Baking like raisins under the sun with Bud Light
Baking like raisins in sun with Bud Light
Fantasizing about the high life
In a hammock chugging a High Life
At my pinnacle thinking about the timeline
Unidentical visuals, fuck the guidelines
Ooh, yeah nigga it's rhyme time
I tried to tell them don't tit-for-tat with the twilight
She on the dresser I cracked the treasure while under pressure
As I undress her she moaning whatever, then she told me
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
The studio a U.F.O. evasion
Her style's Croatian, the body's Malaysian
She's icy-hot like snow on the equator
I know a Paul so do I know Galatians
I ain't appalled from all these fucking haters
I'm tired of y'all, tell it to your neighbor
This Tylenol's for all that misbehaving shit
The dialogue's not meant for the phrasing bitch
We're testing your intellect, quizzing you with a cadence
We craving that currency, currently from the Caymans
Can't wait to accumulate capital for the cannabis
The content of my character could win me a continent
A cul-de-sac or something, nigga I want a lot of shit
I want a monument, maybe a Monterey
No, no fuck it, my mama crib
Make sure I look dominate
Dashing, daring & honest, yes
Bury me wearing Junk apparel, anonymous
I'm tearing my peers up in pairs, I'm arguing
No man can copy this
This shit is copy-write, copy that
Probably off of an opiate
Bout to off me an alderman
Told the opera sang
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
In a hammock chugging a High Life
At my pinnacle thinking about the timeline
Unidentical visuals, fuck the guidelines
Ooh, yeah nigga it's rhyme time
I tried to tell them don't tit-for-tat with the twilight
She on the dresser I cracked the treasure while under pressure
As I undress her she moaning whatever, then she told me
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
Intuition to strengthen a niggas' inner vision
Really feeling the void avoiding an intervention
Feeling villainous on a voyage for joy in Venice
Young ventriloquist with the rhythm & sentences
Synthesizers etc., meddling with the melodies
Marinate & amphetamines swimming all in my blood stream
I fuck with the thrill of it, its a Junk thing
I be seeing shit differently when the mud pink
You can find all my enemies in a mud bank
Cuzzo know what it's finna be we don't duck
Ain't no acting too freindly with my funds
I'ma run a muck like a centipede on the track
We gone enter your system we taking over your trap
Me, I'm the ticket to get your interest in rapping
About the premise the chemist went through apprentice
Experiments with the essence the second it went to relish
We try finessing progressing like playing Tetris
Suppressing the situation with lessons
When you address me the greatest of celebration will take into expectation
I'm racing, chasing with patience that led to the placement
I'm pacing like Pacers getting the good life
I'm aching, craving to capture haven above life
Baking like raisins under the sun with Bud Light
Baking like raisins in sun with Bud Light
Fantasizing about the high life
In a hammock chugging a High Life
At my pinnacle thinking about the timeline
Unidentical visuals, fuck the guidelines
Ooh, yeah nigga it's rhyme time
I tried to tell them don't tit-for-tat with the twilight
She on the dresser I cracked the treasure while under pressure
As I undress her she moaning whatever, then she told me
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
The studio a U.F.O. evasion
Her style's Croatian, the body's Malaysian
She's icy-hot like snow on the equator
I know a Paul so do I know Galatians
I ain't appalled from all these fucking haters
I'm tired of y'all, tell it to your neighbor
This Tylenol's for all that misbehaving shit
The dialogue's not meant for the phrasing bitch
We're testing your intellect, quizzing you with a cadence
We craving that currency, currently from the Caymans
Can't wait to accumulate capital for the cannabis
The content of my character could win me a continent
A cul-de-sac or something, nigga I want a lot of shit
I want a monument, maybe a Monterey
No, no fuck it, my mama crib
Make sure I look dominate
Dashing, daring & honest, yes
Bury me wearing Junk apparel, anonymous
I'm tearing my peers up in pairs, I'm arguing
No man can copy this
This shit is copy-write, copy that
Probably off of an opiate
Bout to off me an alderman
Told the opera sang
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
I need more money, I need more dough
I need more honeys, I need more hoes
I need more songs, I need more flows
I need more gross, I need more
Credits
Writer(s): Teamrat Mason, Reggie Henriques Williams
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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