Pasta (feat. Tra XIII)

My homie in the kitchen twisting forks like it's Japanese pasta
Yellow nigga thuggin off the block hair twisted like a Rasta
Real deal stepper op stretcher
Bag catcher hard rapper not imposter
And I heard that I got what be missing
Premonition come and kill the game then revive that shit rap
Necromancer
Roll the dice and take my chances
You can't wait round for the answer
Bought a bag first time I gambled
Wanna taste of heaven listen to this track and get a sample
I done hit the block re upped
And Did it twice an copped an anvil
Lost it all got it back but be a bitch is what I can't do
Only got one canvas but so deep as if I painted two
In jail an old man asked me what you gonna make of you
Thought about it more while I was chillin inside the Booth
Must be fake to hate the truth
Never was the one to impress the shawtys up at the school
Young gangster nigga scared em off they thought my raps was cool
Skippin Sunday dinner at Tara's she cooking pasta
I'm hanging out the window with a choppa tryna catch an op
This the dirty east best watch what you repping on my fucking blocks
People saying that the rap game crowded that there ain't no spots
Watch me clear a way and make one
Don't got food then ima take some
Always stepped up be the brave one
That's just the way I was raised son
Real recognize real the truth gon come soon huh
My homie in the kitchen trimming weed like a hedge bush top shit
And I ain't buyin nothing less I make a fucking profit

Real deal stepper op stretcher bag catcher hard rapper
I am not of the imposter

Real thug nigga don't gotta impress these bitches
Posting picture guns money wearing skinny jeans an Prada
Hear these niggas rapping gangster i don't see a lot of
Shooters
Pull up snatch yo shit straight mobsters
Want me to be modest

Now why would I do that when every time I stepped to the plate
I showed that I'm the hottest
They say trey you put too many words in yo raps
I can't comprehend all that so fast nigga can you stop it

Ice my nigga hop up on a trap beat man
I'm tryna hear you talk brazy about some hot shit
Ruthless topics

We really up the score on a posse
Cut the flow for some niggas
And they ain't got no cash bitch stop it
Yeah young nigga gotta do what he gotta do
I was told don't matter who proud of you
Everything I do for the brotherhood put that on the Whoops



Credits
Writer(s): T’rey Johnson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

Link