I Think I'm Big Syke

(альбом: The Weeklys, Vol. 5 - 2020)

(My (My) Brother (Brother) Dizz (Dizz) Made This (This))

So much trouble in the world, nigga
Can't nobody feel your pain
So I put my pain in a song, nigga
Every lyric's Novocaine
I'm grinding every night so the money come fast
The love is never real, so the women don't last
I'm riding old school with my Vans on the gas
I'm getting too old for this pistol in this stash

All eyes on a G, I think I'm Big Syke
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Thug Life
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Big Syke
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Thug Life
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Big Syke
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Thug Life
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Big Syke
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Thug Life
All eyes on a G...

Smoking cigars in the cold rain
Then I take a shower in my gold chain
My new memories remedy my old pain
I put my spirit on the tracks, call it soul train
Hoes blowing on my sack,s call it Coltrane
I'm going hockey with the raps, that's a cold game
My dark-skinned chick a rider in some gold frames
My ex-chick is much lighter, that's my old flame
These record labels gave me huge amount of checks
Then try to play me like I ain't used to cruise around with TECs
Pad numbers so when you try to recoup, you drown in debt
They put a crown on your head then a noose around your neck
Yeah, I know the science, that's why I just show defiance
Always standing up, bringing the smoke like a old appliance
You a fan of what? Junkie ass rappers with no alliance?
I been watching rappers on Elah
Before the Giants 'stead of manning up
Cornrows, I would adorn those
Mama sewing my torn clothes
You would've worn those too if you was poor, trash wardrobes
How the god managed to still smell the roses? Only the Lord knows
Nah, this ain't a shot at my professional friends
But how the fuck you make a list with a questionable pen? (Huh?)
Homie, I mastered the funk and I'm flexing again
It's like I fucked a Roman chick 'cause my ex is a ten
Could've had sex with her friend but my karma's on point
Plus you earn a return when you investing in sin
My record'll spin, my perspective connect to your chin
Break everything in between your neck and your shin
Homie
It's the sea, nigga, what up? (What up?)
All you top-tier lyricist talking 'bout how ill you are
If you ain't dropping every week, shut up (Shut up)
'Cause I don't wanna hear that fuck shit
Your fans are delusional too
I'll abuse you and I don't care what kind of music you do (Nah)
Oh, you a D-Boy? Yeah, we used to transport that
You a backpacker? We choke you with your JanSport strap
This the kinda rap that come from seven children in the shack
Illegal thoughts in the front of your mind, prison in the back
Wasn't witness protection but was living with the rats
Cereal for dinner, house smell like cinnamon and crack
(Ow, ow)
I used to think my mama was a cheapskate
Fed us bologna, thought it was a cheesesteak
Now I'm in Fatburger with the black burner that'll push your shit back further than a Jay Electronica release date (Dizz)
It's rap murda

So much trouble in the world, nigga
Can't nobody feel your pain
(They don't understand the pain)
So I put my pain in a song, nigga (Word)
Every lyric's Novocaine (Novocaine)
I'm grinding every night so the money come fast (Fast)
The love is never real so the women don't last (Never last)
I'm riding old school with my Vans on the gas (Skrtt)
I'm getting too old for this pistol in this stash

All eyes on a G, I think I'm Big Syke
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Thug Life
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Big Syke
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Thug Life
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Big Syke
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Thug Life
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Big Syke
All eyes on a G, I think I'm Thug Life
All eyes on a G...

Yo, rest in peace to the imperial serial killer, Big Syke
See y'all next week