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feat. Tennille
[VERSE 1]
Lifeâs short
The dayâs long
Iâll probably die up in my hood like Trayvon
Wait son
Iâm from a block, where niggas bear arms
Like itâs 95 degrees out
Shots, and them Dâs out
Gâs trying to Câs what you Bâs bout
Ainât nothing, fuck you banging foâ
Oh you ainât banging, fuck you claiming foâ
You ainât trapping, you acting
My niggaâs first reaction, is blacking, and blasting
At fourteen, my nigga had a pocket full of stones
Never met his pops
Mom never home
Crib full of kids, still a nigga feel alone
Got his mind up on his money
Hand upon his chrome
Other hand upon the phone
Said thereâs money to be made
Life threw him lemons, he made hard lemonade
And got lifted
I always said âMy nigga, you was giftedâ
He said, âMoney make the world go âround. Donât get it twistedâ
[HOOK: Tennille]
Youâs a paperchaser
You got your block on fire
Remaining a G
âTil the moment you expire
You know what it is
To make something outta nothing
Just handle your biz
Just handle your biz
[VERSE 2]
New York
Big city of dreams
Feins got the shit looking like itâs New Orleans
Juvenileâs, with crack vials, in their G-Star jeans
And B.G.âs, with blood stains, on their new XIV
You getting money, ha
Gold chain around yo neck, ha
Got a connect, so now you wildinâ for respect, ha
That beeper, yeah, it come wit a tec, ha
You selling pills, got em trippy
Tell em watch they step, ha
You paperchasing, âcause ya bills overdue
Hot Boy every summer
And the winter too
Low profile, but you blowing Mystikal
Whipping up in them pots
Grandma in the living room
Didnât finish school, âcause you tryna chase that skrilla
In the hallways, like all day
Shit looking like itâs Thiller
Since a younginâ you was told never to snitch
Everybody need a hit
All you gotta do is pitch
[HOOK]