Pound
Up and down
No bitch I ain't coming round
Unless you packin' all the sounds
Fuck a gram, come and bring ya boy
A muthafuckin pound
Helps me fly
Even when I'm stuck up in in the underground
I put in the work but I'm still speaking facetious
Jesus pieced together words I'm writing songs and booking features
Chillin in some grass, focused in my either
I fuck and don't commit, but monogamous with all the speakers
Running in my sneakers from the drama and the strife
I'm a pretty motherfucker but that shit don't last for life
My tunnel vision millions so I can't be looking for wife
So I ran soon as I could, wanna be great like B.I.G. and Phife
Now I am on some new shit, be like Timmy Chal
So overbooked with success so when my phone ring I don't call
I've been spending twelve years trying to get my "Off the Wall"
So when my "Thriller" debuts the opposition come to halt
I'm an EGOT in the making who came right out of the spectrum
Writing all my bars in the back of a Sentra
Made it from the Boro but I almost went to Central
Just like my big bro, I got milestones in my mental
Up and down
No bitch I ain't coming round
Unless you packin' all the sounds
Fuck a gram, come and bring ya boy
A muthafuckin pound
Helps me fly
Even when I'm stuck up in in the underground
I was in VA, now in NC
I'm in synch, like Justin, ya heard me?
Flow real similar to um, ice cream
It's cold, too sweet, and goddamn it's a treat
On my shit on the regular
Makin bars all day, look I type em on my cellular
And then I go home, and spit em on my microphone
And then I zone zone, and write couple other songs
I cannot help, that I got the flow
Imma drop a tape, and yeah you better cop it hoe
Imma get in shape, and Imma get my workout on
And Imma get some Bape, psych I make my own clothes
I be some my joggers and some fresh ass t-shirts
Cooking in the lab, pour henny in the beakers
If she come over, best believe Imma treat her
And if you wanna catch me, then catch me in your speakers bumping
Up and down
No bitch I ain't coming round
Unless you packin' all the sounds
Fuck a gram, come and bring ya boy
A muthafuckin pound
Helps me fly
Even when I'm stuck up in in the underground
No bitch I ain't coming round
Unless you packin' all the sounds
Fuck a gram, come and bring ya boy
A muthafuckin pound
Helps me fly
Even when I'm stuck up in in the underground
I put in the work but I'm still speaking facetious
Jesus pieced together words I'm writing songs and booking features
Chillin in some grass, focused in my either
I fuck and don't commit, but monogamous with all the speakers
Running in my sneakers from the drama and the strife
I'm a pretty motherfucker but that shit don't last for life
My tunnel vision millions so I can't be looking for wife
So I ran soon as I could, wanna be great like B.I.G. and Phife
Now I am on some new shit, be like Timmy Chal
So overbooked with success so when my phone ring I don't call
I've been spending twelve years trying to get my "Off the Wall"
So when my "Thriller" debuts the opposition come to halt
I'm an EGOT in the making who came right out of the spectrum
Writing all my bars in the back of a Sentra
Made it from the Boro but I almost went to Central
Just like my big bro, I got milestones in my mental
Up and down
No bitch I ain't coming round
Unless you packin' all the sounds
Fuck a gram, come and bring ya boy
A muthafuckin pound
Helps me fly
Even when I'm stuck up in in the underground
I was in VA, now in NC
I'm in synch, like Justin, ya heard me?
Flow real similar to um, ice cream
It's cold, too sweet, and goddamn it's a treat
On my shit on the regular
Makin bars all day, look I type em on my cellular
And then I go home, and spit em on my microphone
And then I zone zone, and write couple other songs
I cannot help, that I got the flow
Imma drop a tape, and yeah you better cop it hoe
Imma get in shape, and Imma get my workout on
And Imma get some Bape, psych I make my own clothes
I be some my joggers and some fresh ass t-shirts
Cooking in the lab, pour henny in the beakers
If she come over, best believe Imma treat her
And if you wanna catch me, then catch me in your speakers bumping
Up and down
No bitch I ain't coming round
Unless you packin' all the sounds
Fuck a gram, come and bring ya boy
A muthafuckin pound
Helps me fly
Even when I'm stuck up in in the underground
Credits
Writer(s): Riley Hough
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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