Where Would I Go

(альбом: Burden Of Proof - 2020)

[BENNY THE BUTCHER:]
Hit-Boy
Where would I go?
You know real (Where would I go?)
Real big boss shit (Where would I go?)
Distinguished gentleman shit
Real street nigga shit, yo

Jumped in the game feet first and I paid for my actions
Hospital stays, laid up, related to asthma
And all I knew was chase paper in a dangerous fashion
Them boxes came to my crib with my name on a package
Mama, I made it, rose petals and gold Chevelles
Ask the team, we all cop gold bezels at those levels
It's on my wrist and as well as my hip, it's cold metal
This kinda game only run through your veins and your bone marrow
It cost me, they tell me, "Be humble", they think I'm flossing
Shit, I probably am, I got this out the concrete
I stood in front of buildings, sold dope brown as coffee
Wearing Barkleys, I just parked the 740 by a palm tree (That's real shit)
Stuck to the plan from out the sand, get rich and share it
When you a dope boy, this the life that your bitch inherit
She wanna fuck me on a yacht and take a trip to Paris
I buy her expensive shit and she forget to wear it
Big dough when you thought of my block
I bought a brand new pistol when I thought of the opps
I had the money on the roll 'fore the water got hot
And I still remember who owe in case y'all thought I forgot
The Butcher coming, nigga

[Rick Ross:]
It's the biggest (Where would I go?)
Niggas desire to fit in, I was invited (Where would I go?)
Pistol whipped a few niggas, he got indicted (Where would I go?)
When you face a few years, it's time to fight it
I shoot the prosecutor right back, Johnny Unitas
Perry Mason, Gary Payton
The double M nigga, I live amazing
Dope boy alumni, such a classy unit
All double R's at the class reunion
Pistol heavy, the money bagger
The bitches at me, up the ladder
Franchise, it's rappers that can't size us
Bitches flew out of state, just to stand beside us
For a selfie, that boy wealthy
Four floor condos, that nigga selfish
Waterfalls and all, deep in the cells
I speak with my heart, I rarely talk a lot
Went from Ford to Ferrari, look at the parking lot
Seatbelts never, that's a common law
'Cause when the shots fired, fat boy hopping out
It's time to explain just what your songs 'bout
'Cause when your homie got shot up, you cut your phone off
Only way I go is where I wanna be
My niggas all on top, it's what I wanna see
My kids in the mansion, it got a hundred rooms
Playing hide and seek for weeks, what you wanna do?
Always talking coke and man, I sold the most
'Til all my niggas broke, Belaire Rose we toast
Always keep your word and keep your mama close
You ride for your brother, teach your son the ropes
You never want it back, a blessing get the most
That Rolex on your wrist, don't let it's cost your soul (Cost your soul, cost your soul)

[Outro:]
(M-M-Maybach Music)
(Griselda)