Lord

(الألبوم: Flyest Nig@@ In Charge, Vol. 1 - 2020)

Ayo
A Rolls Royce made a nigga look
Much bigger than life, big toopens on, Jesus flooded with ice
Pachino blow, getting niggas stuck
I knowing niggas doing life in a box
And not giving a fuck, word up
Drug connected, invested, crazy math
Moving like Escobar, coke Pacho
It's this nigga they call Gunn
Flyest nigga in charge, yo, cash rules
Hamdullah
Bagging addy, shooting niggas outta big navi's
Fuck it, run up on 'em, quick stab 'em
We gotta handle the score
Duffle bags with Gucci emblems
For imputing pure, yo son, we killing niggas
Carryunloaded handguns, 'cause I don't trust shit
Flyer than bitches on Saks 5th, duh
Dolce wardrobe, we pose with a 50 Cal' on me
It's the nigga, jugged drug dealer that'll kill ya
Fly nigga rocking fatigue, money machines, and triple beams
At 16, I'm on the run for more robbery
The state loving niggas like me
Getting cream up in Junior High
Changed my lights up, Gunn was the flyest nigga in class
Math wasn't shit, learned that from older niggas on the ave
Word on my life, Uncle Baker wasn't shit when he was alive
Walking the strip with the .9
Chopping eights up at Domes
And that's how I live
Some niggas can't respect it
Rock up a gatherd necklace, pushing the ES 300 Lexus
Brothers [?] the teacher lessons
Chiefing up reefer, letting all the Gods relate the message
The flyest niggas ever
Tote guns wherever
Rocking cuban links and Armani leathers, but yo
I sold crack on the ave
I got back like "Fuck it", 'cause next day I was back on the ave
And that's my word on everything, Lord
I sold everything, 'cause growing up
All I heard was cash rules everything
But right now I'm tryna lay low
Get my mind right
Street Entertainment taking over when the time right
Ageing getting older, then no "I'm not dead"
So I'm stuck in hell watching grown men shed tears
'Cause where I grew up at
Niggas'll stab you in your fucking back
Then no friends live where I live
And that's a fucking fact
Hard top Lex', rocking baguettes
Cuban links on, modeling Guess
Probably with TECs
The [?] carrying handguns, [?]
Running with real live niggas, silencing major plans
Yo money acting
Hustling cracks up, tucked the Macs
And politick, and [?] brought the gats in
Beef and broccoli chip twisted
Bullets hit his Benz, listen
Running with drug dealing niggas
Willing Vigors
Flyish, rocking Lacoste, ayo
Connect sniffing coka
Million dollar niggas sporting Rovers, yo
Big faces, atleast a hundred grand outta briefcases
Canary stone thrown in the bracelet
Stepping out
Stress the Lex' out, son
Check us and count, a hustler
One that cop grams for a lesser amount
The plan is: get the money and bounce
Back to serving fiends, two for fifteens, no doubt
I'm out, I'm out