Don Smith - Seasons Lyrics

Yeah, look
Biking the bridge on 155th, switching lanes
Watching my city change
AirBNB's down the hall from where niggas bang
My mom used to give leftovers
To the crackheads
Who really knew our family name
We never judge or carry shame
We just ash the pain
In the hood, you gotta find exactly what your gift is
So many prospects who don't get drafted or even mentioned
Next year just make sure to look for our names in the credits
No more eye contact but we look back when we exit
This level of tension with neighbors is just unsettling
I'm searching up and down the block for familiar faces
But they being replaced with make-shift bodegas
The culture supposed to be the most innate
Not something you could fake
I can't stand brothers in law
Deep down we don't relate
But now you wanna join my team like K.D. at golden state
Soon as I drop the tape
Keep your pounds to yourself
Like you tryna hold your weight
I open shop every morning
Knowing it's high stakes
And slow-business
Every verse written is cold, but there's no pension
Close-fisted, I hold tension, gear shifted
Now my focus been wallets like '04 Pistons
Niggas where I'm from was sick before COVID hit
We surviving conditions
Consider us vintage
We achieve and persist
Watching the seasons desist
Fan mail mixed in with the cease and desist
I'm reminding OG's why they like rap
The type that give 'em fire with no match
I made a loaf off the last batch
I sold drafts and voice memos
Record it straight off my notes app
That got my ego jumping
The city deserve to believe in something
Mayors lie through their teeth
Every time they speak 'bout something
You niggas went from being food to being leftovers
While you was using microwaves, we learned to chef culture
Surfing tidal waves
So the niggas who actually rap might get signed again
No more of that he might get paid
They gon' know who is who
And when to lose niggas who wasn't riding with you
We don't take uber pool
Chillin' in the middle of Harlem
With a bitch who cook way better than Bronson
Keep the cameras off us
'Cause every Don knows privacy is as big as his condom
I dress simple and clean
My tailor is swift and responsible
I keep the smell of the streets on me
Newcomer is saying
We're blood
You just here to leech on me
Jokes on you, I'm broke just be sweet talking
Hot streets and cold coffins
The coast never clear so we move like the beach foggy
Still a privilege to know the street's watchin
Hold up, my nigga Morgan trying to facetime me
Blunt on his lips, coughing and shit
Still told me it's your season, Donnie
I felt that