Goin' Hard

You know we came from nothing
But we're a long way from the bottom now
It can't rain forever, say
I'm sick of these niggas, let's get it on
Yeah, I came for the money, I got it and now I'm gone
Childish ass niggas, I'm grown, let alone goin' hard
Bitch, I'm still in the zone, they got me wrong
Hater, your bitch on my line, I catch her later
I'm a monster when it come to the paper, and you a faker
Smokin' on some purple and gold, look like a Laker
And I told you niggas play on the sidewalk where it's safer
Suckas get mad when you're keepin' it right
But I'm movin' through the crowd like a thief in the night
Niggas playin', get off my dick is what I'm sayin'
I'm too busy out here purchasin' land and you a fan
Addicted to the money, I arrange these plays
It's too late for me to change my ways
Nigga, I said addicted to the money, I arrange these plays
It's too late for me to change my ways

Check me out, he got chains on his neck, neck
Diamonds in his mouth
He was born here, takes his home, he raised in the South
Trapped full of fiends, slabs in the yard
Got a pocket full of money and he's still going hard
He got chains on his neck, neck, diamonds in his mind
He was born here, takes his homie, raised in the south
Trapped full of fiends, slabs in the yard
Got a pocket full of money and he's still going hard
We cut so different
You might be getting this game from a nigga who did 20 flat
We under the old law

I said

Pop trunk with candy paint
I had a trap house with purple drink and candy dank
Kream Clique, persona gang, Rob Shoot or shank
Before I had the millions, I was trapping Jack and used to take
Broke as fuck, we had to huddle up, put twenty in the gas tank
Blue Buick looking foolish, max text K's Drake's
Pull up, make a movie, first shot, we don't do takes
But we do take chalk, line, yellow tape
My grandma hear my lines, she say she prayin' for me every day
My mama say she proud of me, son, you know you made the way
The opps be talkin' down on me, mad they partna in the grave
I keep that trade pound on me, ratchet, tote 'em to the bank

He got chains on his neck, he got chains on his neck
He got chains on his neck, diamonds in his mouth
He was born here, takes his homie, raised in the South
Trap full of fiends, slabs in the yard
Got a pocket full of money and he still goin' hard
He got chains on his neck, diamonds in his mouth
He was born here, takes his homie, raised in the South
Trap full of fiends, slabs in the yard
Got a pocket full of money and he still goin' hard

I'm straight out the Lone Star State, grindin' for decades
But I ain't even half done yet, you ain't seen my best days
I'm front page P, my slab got 'em writin' essays
When I turn up the bass, massage backs and cause headaches
X-ray the way the glass is see-through
Ridin' on spokes and Vogue, slowly that's how we do
Mouth full of carrots, my pockets thicker than some beef stew
Just got back from Chicken Itza, headed to Machu Picchu
So that's why I've been peaceful, wrists glowing like my chi
I'm flyer than the UAP, you clean but you ain't me
And everything was paid for, none of it was free
I got more hustles than this park and spots at NRG
So look and see but don't stare too hard
Them diamonds might blind you, have you stuck at the light
With ten candy cars behind you
You know the name, it ain't no need to remind you
It's the Slab God, people's champ, it's Paul Wall, baby

He got chains on his neck, neck, diamonds in his mouth
He was born here, takes his homie raised in the south
Trap full of fiends, big slabs in the yard
Got a pocket full of money and he still going hard
He got chains on his neck, neck, diamonds in his mouth
He was born here, takes his homie raised in the south
Trap full of fiends, big slabs in the yard
Got a pocket full of money and he still going hard



Credits
Writer(s): Paul Michael Slayton, Marcus Edwards, Emekwanem Biosah Jr., Larry Robinson Jr.
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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