Been Around the World
Live from the 718
World Famous DJ Clue. Desert Storm
The Kid Loso... Welcome to Friday Night Freestyle Baby
We turning up for the Streets... This that Hall of Fame flow baby
Stop Playing. (Lets Go)
Yea kid mobbin' with the gods... (Clue)
Uh huh, Uh huh we like it
Yea Kid mobbin' with the gods
You don't want no problem with the gods
Look I talk it cause I live it, stand on my own pivot
I don't need your credit, and you ain't got it to give it
All I do is fill up banks, Aunt Viv it
Drink Belaire Champane and Club Liv it
I come from the era where you really had to live it
Couldn't say you Bentley, you're really a Honda Civic
Every thing you said painted pictures so vivid
So when I talk clippers, know that I can Doc Riv it (swish)
Big man, pace your self like Roy Hibbert
You feel froggy than leap, stop all the ribbits
I pop up at your crib and cats lookin' like Xzibit
Box braids and mean mugs, I mean thugs
Type you would merge with on some purge shit
Put in 'work' ASAP, on some Ferg shit
My homies said "niggas just tryna wave surf you
Tryna jump aboard the wave you gave birth through"
All these niggas late and want me to waive curfew
Talkin' like they shooters when they wouldn't spray perfume
They know who the hell I be, I'm L-I-T
I pass one to French like "c'est la vie"
Ju L-I-E, stay off the L-I-E
The 2 Chains made a single no L-I-E (Truu)
I mean I don't care what her man says
He better come 'airing' like Hernadez
Or you gon' hear that 'Braat' like Birdman says
Leave him hanging out his helmet, Richard Sherman Dreads
See, I hit shorty like I need that bouquet
Her man hit me back like "you need some WHO cake?"
I text him right back like "you heard that new Drake?
You know that if you reading this it's too late"
See you ain't offending me
It ain't like you ain't heard son is fly as Kennedy (JFK)
Riding in the six, got a lot of enemies
A lot of people tryna drain me of the energy
I know how it be, you know me from Brevoort
Used to call me "Sport", now it's Resorts
Boats and sea ports, foreign v's bought
Stamps and p-port, bunch of bitches in them Ms. Parker jean shorts
Mami got some head that'll stop a deport
Throat game have me stuck, call it deep thought
But watch where you kick it
You park in the wrong spot, you know you'll get a ticket
All of that tough talk, and now the shit is crickets
Be alot of places where these niggas can't visit
They think yo mans missin'
World Famous DJ Clue. Desert Storm
The Kid Loso... Welcome to Friday Night Freestyle Baby
We turning up for the Streets... This that Hall of Fame flow baby
Stop Playing. (Lets Go)
Yea kid mobbin' with the gods... (Clue)
Uh huh, Uh huh we like it
Yea Kid mobbin' with the gods
You don't want no problem with the gods
Look I talk it cause I live it, stand on my own pivot
I don't need your credit, and you ain't got it to give it
All I do is fill up banks, Aunt Viv it
Drink Belaire Champane and Club Liv it
I come from the era where you really had to live it
Couldn't say you Bentley, you're really a Honda Civic
Every thing you said painted pictures so vivid
So when I talk clippers, know that I can Doc Riv it (swish)
Big man, pace your self like Roy Hibbert
You feel froggy than leap, stop all the ribbits
I pop up at your crib and cats lookin' like Xzibit
Box braids and mean mugs, I mean thugs
Type you would merge with on some purge shit
Put in 'work' ASAP, on some Ferg shit
My homies said "niggas just tryna wave surf you
Tryna jump aboard the wave you gave birth through"
All these niggas late and want me to waive curfew
Talkin' like they shooters when they wouldn't spray perfume
They know who the hell I be, I'm L-I-T
I pass one to French like "c'est la vie"
Ju L-I-E, stay off the L-I-E
The 2 Chains made a single no L-I-E (Truu)
I mean I don't care what her man says
He better come 'airing' like Hernadez
Or you gon' hear that 'Braat' like Birdman says
Leave him hanging out his helmet, Richard Sherman Dreads
See, I hit shorty like I need that bouquet
Her man hit me back like "you need some WHO cake?"
I text him right back like "you heard that new Drake?
You know that if you reading this it's too late"
See you ain't offending me
It ain't like you ain't heard son is fly as Kennedy (JFK)
Riding in the six, got a lot of enemies
A lot of people tryna drain me of the energy
I know how it be, you know me from Brevoort
Used to call me "Sport", now it's Resorts
Boats and sea ports, foreign v's bought
Stamps and p-port, bunch of bitches in them Ms. Parker jean shorts
Mami got some head that'll stop a deport
Throat game have me stuck, call it deep thought
But watch where you kick it
You park in the wrong spot, you know you'll get a ticket
All of that tough talk, and now the shit is crickets
Be alot of places where these niggas can't visit
They think yo mans missin'
Credits
Writer(s): David Bowie, Ian Owen Devaney, Lisa Jane Stansfield, Andy Morris
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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