Royal Rumble
Seafood boils every summer with the old bay
Liquor by the bottle, champagne and some OJ
Ice cubes in the watch, you can call em O'shea
Conglomerates official I don't need to give the ok
My word is bond, got brains and brawn's
This is chess not checkers, I don't play with pawns
Gotcha wifey in the kitchen, see the game is on
Full blast like ya favorite song, til the fame is gone
Bench warmers can't compare to elites
So they will flare up the beef to prepare your defeat
Be aware when you sleep
Similar to tornadoes, I keep it moving yet my air's to the streets
Peep. I'm 12 steps ahead, but still anonymous
Alcoholic attitude, made a choice to bottle it
Morals over vices overtime became autonomous
Married to the game and the goals to stay monogamous
I don't need a Range or a Rolls
I ain't in the game for the hoes
Never aim for the lows
Shorty won't stress out, them baby moms I'm bout to stretch them out
I'm bout to bang bang
I hear a lot niggas talking, it's same lane
Pop a lot of shit, hella vain, in the same game
Shorty won't mess me up
I hope the Holy Ghost vest me
I 'm saying "ya ya"
Feeling like I'm flowing for a deal
I see these niggas reaching like they going for a steal
You can see me overseas niggas touring off of skills
Shit is all trial and error I ain't talking court appeals
Imma slide through
I ain't talking coin counters, get ya dime scooped
Fly fit, cop 12 like high noon
And I dream big, niggas looking minute
See me in the 6 man like Manu
I had to hustle bumpy knuckles like Johnson
3:16's Stone Cold like Austin
Texas, SXSW on South West Airlines
I could crack her, fracture like a hairline
I ain't penitentiary, mind ain't elementary
Smoking on quarter make a decade look a century
Asking why I'm rapping still, I told em that it's meant to be
And anybody doubting I ain't keeping in my memory
I don't need a Range or a Rolls
I ain't in the game for the hoes
Never aim for the lows
Shorty won't stress out, them baby moms I'm bout to stretch them out
I'm bout to bang bang
I hear a lot niggas talking, it's same lane
Pop a lot of shit, hella vain, in the same game
Shorty won't mess me up
I hope the Holy Ghost vest me
I 'm saying "ya ya"
Liquor by the bottle, champagne and some OJ
Ice cubes in the watch, you can call em O'shea
Conglomerates official I don't need to give the ok
My word is bond, got brains and brawn's
This is chess not checkers, I don't play with pawns
Gotcha wifey in the kitchen, see the game is on
Full blast like ya favorite song, til the fame is gone
Bench warmers can't compare to elites
So they will flare up the beef to prepare your defeat
Be aware when you sleep
Similar to tornadoes, I keep it moving yet my air's to the streets
Peep. I'm 12 steps ahead, but still anonymous
Alcoholic attitude, made a choice to bottle it
Morals over vices overtime became autonomous
Married to the game and the goals to stay monogamous
I don't need a Range or a Rolls
I ain't in the game for the hoes
Never aim for the lows
Shorty won't stress out, them baby moms I'm bout to stretch them out
I'm bout to bang bang
I hear a lot niggas talking, it's same lane
Pop a lot of shit, hella vain, in the same game
Shorty won't mess me up
I hope the Holy Ghost vest me
I 'm saying "ya ya"
Feeling like I'm flowing for a deal
I see these niggas reaching like they going for a steal
You can see me overseas niggas touring off of skills
Shit is all trial and error I ain't talking court appeals
Imma slide through
I ain't talking coin counters, get ya dime scooped
Fly fit, cop 12 like high noon
And I dream big, niggas looking minute
See me in the 6 man like Manu
I had to hustle bumpy knuckles like Johnson
3:16's Stone Cold like Austin
Texas, SXSW on South West Airlines
I could crack her, fracture like a hairline
I ain't penitentiary, mind ain't elementary
Smoking on quarter make a decade look a century
Asking why I'm rapping still, I told em that it's meant to be
And anybody doubting I ain't keeping in my memory
I don't need a Range or a Rolls
I ain't in the game for the hoes
Never aim for the lows
Shorty won't stress out, them baby moms I'm bout to stretch them out
I'm bout to bang bang
I hear a lot niggas talking, it's same lane
Pop a lot of shit, hella vain, in the same game
Shorty won't mess me up
I hope the Holy Ghost vest me
I 'm saying "ya ya"
Credits
Writer(s): Jamal James, Daryl James, Michael Thomas
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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