Jersey Numbers (feat. Rylo Rodriguez)

Pipe that shit up, TnT
Ayy, JB

Yeah, yeah, uh
Fell in love with my cup, it's just me and my drank
So much pain in my heart got me numb to the brain
And the crackers on our bumpers, shit ain't sweet as you think
Loyalty for royalty, I did it all for the gang
Now here's a message for the youth, it ain't worth it
Niggas police, it ain't worth it

Yeah, we stand on that business, fuck around, tie up a witness
My past ain't perfect, the judge handing out jersey numbers
Mistakes is nothing, you live and you learn
I was tryna get some sleep, so I been sipping that syrup
Preaching to my young niggas to lay off the pills
My baby mama text my phone like: "You got some nerve"
Know I come up out that bottom, I came straight from the curb

Youngin asking me advice to get his paper mature
My mouth told him chase his dream
But the younger child in me screamed
"Tell your big homie to front you half a bird"
You scared, then go to church
If you scared, them crackers'll give you life, give you life
Okay, my brother back in jail, my songs leaking out, I am not alright

In 2018, my partner was eighteen
They gave him twenty years, twenty years
If you eighteen with twenty
That mean he got more time than he fucking lived

Preaching to Lil Keed, I told him try to make it to the league
Get a jersey number
It ain't nothing in these streets
But graveyards and jersey numbers, jersey numbers
Yeah, yeah, yeah
It ain't nothing in these streets
But graveyards and jersey numbers, jersey numbers

Bro callin' from the jail, he said his lawyer swapped him out (uh)
I was hollerin' at lil' Yayo, they gave him a dub and he did five
Still shower with his slides on, bro institutionalized
Still killin', inmates shanked each other
I'm happy that he survived
Pay anything to get you free, you, I'm picking sides
Know a couple people who bit the cheese who used to be the guys
Paid an inmate in call fare, clean your laundry, laundry

Shoot away, show you how I did get a lunch tray, lunch tray
They'll give you a jersey number, the judge won't put you in the game
They be treating us like a jeweler, can't wait to put us in some chains
On FaceTime with lil' TJ
Say his mama was actin' strange (she was actin' strange)
Said his brother turned his back since he been in
I felt his pain (felt his pain)

Seen a gangster go to jail and fuck a sissy
He wouldn't control himself, the first day out I was back to sipping
Niggas tell me: "Don't get high", I should try and make a living
But I tell 'em I'm a hustler and I'd rather make a killing

Preaching to Lil Keed, I told him try to make it to the league
Get a jersey number (yeah)
It ain't nothing in these streets, but graveyards and jersey numbers
Jersey numbers
Yeah, yeah, yeah
It ain't nothing in these streets, but graveyards and jersey numbers
Jersey numbers
Uh



Credits
Writer(s): Thomas Horton, Rodarius M Green, Justin R. Bradbury, Ryan Adams, Isaac Agyapong
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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