Schoolboy Q - Blank Face LP Lyrics
TorcH
[ScHoolboy Q + Anderson .Paak:]
Blank face, blank face, blank face, blank face
Blank face, blank face, blank face, blank face
Blank face, blank face
I'll trade the noise for a piece of divine
Uh!
This that "F*ck the blogs"
The afterbell, we hang in halls
Underage, smokin' weed and alcohol
Grandma sweeped shells out the driveway
One of the homies got slayed so we bang at the King parade
I can take you spots where gangsters walk
The real damus and locs, Boyz N the Hood wasn't even close
Where the girls' kitten show, hit the dope and the pussy soaked
Now she get you for your change, Captain Save-A-Hoe, mane
I ain't been right since out the cervix
I know a M can make it perfect
It came through more than the one I worship
You I never lie, the truth be told, the dope, it gettin' sold
He got the runny nose
Summertime, we don't trust niggas in winter clothes
I swear the hood low, as the burner get rolls I follow the city codes
My money short
Missin' the days of honey oats
Dollar bills in mama's coat
Cartoons and bubble soap
This be the realest shit I wrote
This be that ride that hunnid spoke
Red and blue from head to toe
Who needs a mothaf*ckin' friend?
You see them mothaf*ckin' rims
Met the devil in disguise
Look through my mothaf*ckin' eyes
[Anderson .Paak:]
Look at my eyes, look at my block
Look at my shit, cold
Bustin' these nines, true to my life
Word to my pen so
Take what you want, get what you like
Open that window
That shit raw
Ain't it? That shit raw
Look through my mothaf*ckin' eyes
Vision impaired by the high
No cares on my mind
Couple dares, that is fine
This shit from 'round the back house
More baggies bagged and that roach
In granny's plastic suede couch
Best play cat and that mouse
A minor pitchin' in major
Stay servin' dope but we cater
Take you back to my sega
Slammin' bones on that table
Runnin' errands for grams, the paramedics at Tam's
Forced to grow to a man
Before L.A. had them Rams
Went to school for the bitches, where scorin' drugs was the goal
Lungs black as a crow, got banned from every hood store
My haters came for the better and money came for the loads
Concrete where we rose, you wasn't built from this mold
F*cked up the game with many flow
I've been a loc since Henry O
I'm ten toes, you movie role
I do this shit for lifers way before
Jehri curls, cut Dickies and sherm smoke
Got so many bodies the world knows, shit
Don't worry 'bout no witness, your homies go under oath
But our dreams were big, homie
The world done flipped on me, took my soul then clicked on me
Who needs a mothaf*ckin' friend?
You see them mothaf*ckin' rims
Met the devil in disguise
Look through my mothaf*ckin' eyes
[Anderson .Paak:]
Look at my eyes, look at my block
Look at my shit, cold
Bustin' these nines, true to my life
Word to my pen so
Take what you want, get what you like
Open that window
That shit raw
Ain't it? That shit raw
Look through my mothaf*ckin' eyes
Vision impaired by the high
No cares on my mind
Couple dares, that is fine
My picture was in full frame
But my vision had distort
My memory is okay
But my feelings on point
I could be here all day if you let me go, go, go, go
Oh lord!
You don't know the half of what I had to hold, hold, hold, hold
No lord!
I see faces at my window
My patience growin' short
I had no one to lend on
That's why that chip is so cold
Kinda like the cool king on my fallen bros
Oh lord!
Guess that's my curtain call, my last go
Ain't this shit what you wanted to see?
Ain't this shit what you wanted to see?
Writer: QUINCY HANLEY, NESBITT WESONGA JR, MARIO LOVING, MARK SPEARS
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lord Have Mercy
[Swizz Beatz:]
Preacher told me don't set trip on a Sunday
Knowin' damn well that there'll get you laid Monday
Lord have mercy
Please Heaven's mercy
Lord have mercy
Please Heaven's mercy
Na-na-na na-na na-na
Never, ever ever get caught tellin' on my niggas
I'm a gangbanger, deadbeat father and drug dealer
When the money and fame gone, tell me who stayin' with you
Runnin' from God's creation
Shakin' these broken hands and meetin' with blank faces
Snake eyes keepin' my back achin'
Dirty habits of rappin' and bein' savage
Still hangin' with niggas that can't do nothin' but cause damage
Guess I'm bein' a real nigga like I'm 'posed to be
But bein' real never once bought the groceries and
Top told me keep rappin', you'll make it hopefully
And hope was all that I needed, dreamin' myself to work
This workin' affair was better than bullet holes in my shirt
The demons hate when you make it and stay alive
They'd rather see me down under than see me fly
Lord have mercy!
[Swizz Beatz:]
Lord have mercy
Please Heaven's mercy
Lord have mercy
Please Heaven's mercy
They say I was a wanted man, a wanted man
Runnin' with my gun in hand, gun in hand
They don't wanna see the wanted man, the wanted man
Comin' through with the gun in hand, the gun in hand
Damn
Lord have mercy
Writer: QUINCY HANLEY, KASSEEM DEAN
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
THat Part
[ScHoolboy Q:]
Me no conversate with the fake, that part
All my bitches independent bitches, that part
I just want the paper, that part
All my bitches flavored
That part, that part, that part, that part
[Jay Rock:]
It's impossible to love it, if you don't come from it
It's things that goes on, you just can't stomach
I seen it all happen, but I ain't sayin' nada
Peep, 24/7 in the hood it's hot
If you wanna fall through, get Top on the phone
He don't pick up then it ain't bool
Let you know it ain't good to stop
That part, that part (that part)
I'm a Watts nigga and we not kosher
Shit, niggas only concern is the bottom line like a stockholder
This is where they come, where they cop them boulders
Hoes catfight with their tits exposed
Still sippin' on that wild Irish rose
Still rock swapmeet designer clothes
Black MAC 11 in my mattress
Make a hundred racks do a backflip
Might go Uncle Luke on them hoes
Pussy pop for a bankroll (yeah)
All my killers with me got a blank face (yeah)
On that f*ck you, bitch, where the pay pay?
Make 'em pull up on your block with them 223s
Aim it at your face, hey
Movin' with the rock and the Glock concealers
You either sellin' rock or you flock to get it
You either on the watch or the clock is tickin'
The life of my Watts and my Bompton niggas
Get pinched, I'm a post a bond
Know POP gon' hold it down, look
Need cash, gotta get you some
If a hater tell you money ain't everything
He don't want you to get none
So we thuggin' like DMX
Bleed shit, PMS
Point blank, period, meet me on the ES
I'm fully with the BS, believe that!
[Kendrick Lamar:]
And we don't stress
A.38 'til the free your chest
Then PP on the POs desk
I'm Jay Z in a blow out press
Relate me to your blowout's best
Can't heat me, I'm remote you're deaf
I'm HD 'causin' photo theft
My AC antifreeze got a that part
Hold your breath, I'm 8 feet when I hold this TEC
Protect me from the local threats
My ID say my eye don't rest
My IV qualify T-rex
And society kept my IQ vexed
Deny me from an Ivy school
Applyin' me to the street I slept
I quietly had to hold this tool
Reminding me of the block I repped
The turf I stepped, the church and the earth I blessed
The first I guessed the alert was the murk I chef
That hearse the flirt with perks of a kill confessed
Dispersed the worst, the first 48 addressed
The search and laws and verse of the birth I nest
The awe, the curse of a pose in zest
The good, the flaws, the pain to reverse what's left
[ScHoolboy Q:]
Me no conversate with the fake, that part
All my bitches independent bitches, that part
I just want the paper, that part
All my bitches flavored
That part, that part, that part, that part
[Ab-Soul:]
Zest God, zest God, zest God, zest God
Yamborghini high, cream soda with the Wockhardt
Soulo Hoe the profit, yeah Soulo Hoe the prophet
That's the fortune teller makin' withdraws and deposits
Ironic, they wanna know where I've been in
Where the f*ck I've been hidin' in
When the f*ck am I droppin' that
New work that take 'em to church and
Turn the universe upside down again
Since you're so smart
I can't get in my groove 'til we get the Q first
I will not heed
I pull up large enough to part the Red Sea
Father forgive 'em for they know not who they see
I got all eyes on me, call me 3Pac
Soulo
[ScHoolboy Q:]
Hang on, nigga, let me get some
Hang on, nigga
Hang on
Made a mil' and I spent it in the same day
Got a chopper, not the AK
Gettin' money on a vacay
Go go gadget's in the driveway
Doin' Tony on July 8th
Yeah I'm killin' kitties on a Sunday
How you ballin' in a Hyundai?
My Ferrari got a toupee
Swerve in the big body
Your favorite artist, I'm his big homie
Yeah I'm walkin' with a 5th
I'm not votin', I'm a Crip, homie
I'm where them Bloods, where them Locs at
Where the blood, where the choke round gloves for the combat
How the feds in your contacts?
How the feds know my set name?
Fled in the Mulsanne
Hydrate up the rap game
Heard Soulo comin' up next
And SZA got a classic, nigga
Heard Zay's got it mastered, uh
The fire burnin' through the plastic
So fingers to the badges
They don't love you 'til the racks evolve
When I was broke they wouldn't accept the call
Now they on me for my decimals
Blank Face has gotta X 'em off
Enemies gotta bob and weave
Gangbangin' like we stand for somethin'
When Alton Sterling gettin' killed for nothin'
Two cowards in the car, they're just there to film
Sayin' #BlackLivesMatter should've died with him
Wrong nigga in your hood, you gon' ride on him
White nigga with a badge, you gon' let that slide?
Tell me how they sent that footage off and slept that night
I feel bad that my daughter gotta live this life
I'll die for my daughter, gotta fight this fight
Put a Blank Face on, nigga let that drop
That, that part
Writer: QUINCY MATTHEW HANLEY, KANYE OMARI WEST, KEVIN GO, RONALD N. LA TOUR, DAVEON LAMONT JACKSON
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., THE ADMINISTRATION MP INC
Groovy Tony / Eddie Kane
[Part One - Groovy Tony:]
Blank Face, tre 8, kill everybody, f*ck an AK
Sell narcotics and step my dollars up to Bill Gates
PusH all limits, you lookin' timid, need to back off
Punk-ass cops, tHem crackers want us witH our black off
THug life nigga since '96 I wanted to gang bang
Few years later I'm really from it, we were still kids
Crack off nigga, I'm squeezing empty 'til tHe sHell break
F*ck my image I need to drop, I need to, Blank Face
Cause brain damage from my mecHanics, keeping two ways
Sell narcotics, I'm slanging diamonds witH your pack tHen
Stack large commas, you witH your riders witH your backbone
Can't fold figures, I make deposits witH tHe gold grin
Jeans look dirty, I lift tHe CHevy witH tHe rims on
All bad bitcHes, tHey wanna f*ck me witH tHe cap gone
Real life nigga, I'm in tHe stu' 'til all tHe weed blown
Wait long, long, I Hid tHe dope beHind tHe cellpHone
Y'all don't Hear me, I want tHe money rigHt
UgH, Groovy Tony, no face killer
I see tHe money rigHt, ugH
YeaH, I'm (Blank Face)
Clear everytHing out tHe safe
Crack tHe pig bank, robbin' your kids too
My Heart an igloo, tHe devil in all blue, HuH
Die now go to Heaven or bring 'em tHrougH
Lot of brown 'round Here, got tHat wHite girl for you
And sHe swimming in fire water, could be double digits
Pistol tHrougH your Civic
Most die before tHey Hear it, turn a nigga to a spirit
Drive slow, oH, Hey
Hit tHe curb witH sHattered mirrors
Look around now you're Hellbound, boogie down
BullsHit I won't allow, slang a bird every Hou'
Smack a nigga witH tHe Heat
Contradicting, now you peace
Leave you triple six laying in defeat
Can you dig it?
Struck a matcH, tHey won't finisH
Drop a nigga off, get a nigga wHipped
Squeezing fingertips, aye
Blank Face, tre 8, kill everybody, f*ck an AK
Sell narcotics and step my dollars up to Bill Gates
PusH all limits, you lookin' timid, need to back off
Punk ass cops tHem crackers want us witH our black off
THug life nigga since '96 I want tHe gang bang
Few years later I'm really from it, we were still kids
Crack off nigga, I'm squeezing empty 'til tHe sHell break
F*ck my image I need to drop, I need to, Blank Face
Cause brain damage from my mecHanics, keeping two ways
Sell narcotics, I'm slanging diamonds witH your pack tHen
Stack large commas, you witH your riders witH your backbone
Can't fold figures, I make deposits witH tHe gold grin
Jeans look dirty, I lift tHe CHevy witH tHe rims on
All bad bitcHes tHey wanna f*ck me witH tHe cap gone
Real life nigga, I'm in tHe stu' 'til all tHe weed blown
Wait long, long, I Hid tHe dope beHind tHe cellpHone
Y'all don't Hear me, I want tHe money rigHt
UgH, Groovy Tony, no face killer
I see tHe money rigHt, ugH
YeaH, I'm (Blank Face)
[Jadakiss:]
Exactly what I'mma have when the cops come
Body languages, the same as when the shots rung
Hole in a thirty-eight and a shotgun
Real nigga, we all know you are not one, nah
Running with the rebels, it's a three-man weave
With the Lord and the devil
Really all I need is a pitchfork and a shovel
If I can't proceed then I resort to the metal (Blank face)
Getting high watching NBA League Pass (Who with?)
With your family at the re-pass (My condolences)
My heart's getting colder
When I hug your mom and look over her shoulder
You notice I got the, (blank face)
I heard nothing, I ain't seen nothing
I ain't in the middle with nothin', no in between nothin'
F y'all for ever hating me
As I sit there while they interrogate me
I'm staring at 'em with the (blank face)
[Part Two - Eddie Kane:]
Top rack nigga and the money came with it huh
New bitch with me, hope the booty came with it, came with it
Uh, rims flying down the road huh
Five in the morning, feds knockin' on my door huh
Toilet full of dope, while my burner knee high
Tell me put the gun down, I'm probably gonna die
I know, I know, big guns sell dope
Eddie Kane's little bro, hundred k, one whip, hah
Open Eddie Kane for hire
Been tryna get rich for hours
Nights like this I wish
Cocaine drops would fall, woo, woo, woo, woo...
Yo, uh, yo, uh
Need the car with no mileage
Kristoff on my pallet
My cigar full of cabbage
Came from the dirt to the carrots
Getting dirty dollars
F*ck different baby mommas
Dope between the speakers
So f*ck you mister teacher
Cause the paper, I ace it
Lead, they tried to erase it
But I'm still standing
They mad at everything
Nothing given, I'mma take it first
On the trees like a hammock
Flip the work behind the campus
Young Ruby, turn your hood into a movie (into a movie...)
Gang bang it, don't slang it
GTA-ing, shoot the whole club up
F*ck tryna sneak the K in
On the road to riches
Thank you Mister Reagan
You helped them dollars rake in
And to my uncle that hooked up the family
That shit that you was smokin'
I was pushin' residue like on the cushion
I'mma blame it on your ass cause I ain't gettin' whoopings
And your proof is in the pudding
I'm his grandma's baby, Eddie Kane
(Eddie Kane, Eddie Kane)
Standing in the white light and we on
And we on
And is there any other smokers in here?
And we on
And is there any other smokers in here?
And we on
Is there any other smokers in here?
Keys open doors on the road to my heart
Dreams on the floor, bet a nigga stay high
And I know....
We're next to go, around, around, around
We're next to go, around, around, around
Walk right into the light
Getting a feeling in the night
[?] spice
You're my only Christ
I have only eyes for you
I have only eyes for you
Your soul is mine
Your soul is mine
Mine, mine, mine, mine
Writer: Quincy Hanley, Jason Phillips, Donte Perkins, Dwayne Abernathy Jr
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Kno Ya Wrong
[Part I:]
Know you're wrong, ooh
Hey, know you're wrong, ooh
These, all they wanna call you talkin' 'bout what they need
Know you're wrong, know you're wrong, oh
All I hear, "Gimme, gimme"
When y'all was sleepin', who was workin' with me
But want these benefits and tour the city
Leechin', won't you find your titty
Know you're wrong, know you're wrong, ooh yeah
Days prayin' on my knees
We made it from the feet, yeah
Then this leech came along
Know you're wrong, oh
You want me do the work, then you live off my life
Know you're wrong, huh
Say you got my back but revealin' snake eyes
Know you're wrong, huh
When I was doin' bad, wasn't textin' my phone
Know you're wrong
Oh now you wonder what, what
What you wonder? Huh
Call me, yeah
Know you're wrong, oh
Rappin' my ass off, nigga
You're tryna blur my picture
Want me down there with you
Tryna blow my high
You wanna steer my drive
You ask for more than my moms
Try corruptin' my mind
Do some work with them rhymes
When I was broke, you was gone
Know you're wrong, oh I
Know you're wrong, oh I
[Part II:]
[Lance Skiiiwalker::]
Say words can't express what you do for me when you appear
And don't be blind to see my love is the punch you shouldn't fear
Say words can't express what you do for me when you appear
And don't be blind to see my love is the punch you shouldn't fear
Say girl jump in my bank account
So I can deposit you
I'm goin' through withdrawals
And I can't afford to lose
Say girl jump in my bank account
So I can deposit you
I'm goin' through withdraws
And I can't afford to lose
Plasma my TV screen
Hope I go out like BB King
The front row, they cheer for God
I'm sold out on everything
Last night, it was a dream
Thinkin' 'bout you in the worst way
I need your cake like it's your birthday
I'm tryna be in front the TIME page
Yeah she rockin' with the big dog
I need my bread like it's the 5th floor
Little lettuce, slice of cheese, sucka please
What it's hittin' for
Let's split the middle like a Philly roll
I get a half, you get a half
F*ck up some commas, I'm a nympho
I'm goin' in just like a dimple
Shots of Patrón to the temple
Collard greens, I stay givin' thanks
Deposit your love, we gon' flood the bank
Wish away, never lose
Lose
[Lance Skiiiwalker:]
Now what we do be up to you, baby
Keep you up past your curfew, lady
Then drive you home with some drive through dome, baby
Keep you out tonight, drinks on, lady
Now what we do be up to you, baby
Keep you up past your curfew, lady
Then drive you home with some drive through dome, baby
Keep you out tonight, drinks on, lady
No sacrifice
Girl, just bein' precise
With my hands on the wheel
While you plant the device
Writer: QUINCY HANLEY, ALAN MAMAN, JASON POUNDS, LANCE HOWARD
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., THE ROYALTY NETWORK INC.
Ride Out
Ride out, big smoke
Re-up, big dope
Gs up, hoes blow
Freeze up, eyes closed
Ride out, big smoke
Re-up, big dope
Gs up, hoes blow
Freeze up, eyes closed
Young nigga and I'm proper like
Couple hundred thousand on me, nigga, yeah I'm baller like
Bitch I think I'm Dolamite, bitch I'm goin' poltergeist
You said this is overnight, album four is really like
Crippin' on my minibike
Either hoop or sellin' white
Brillo pad, the smoker's pipe
My pistol cocked, you tryna fight?
Say he wanna be a cuz, put his brains to the right
Bruh, this ain't the eighties, mane
Niggas shootin' everything, everything
You know the gang we represent
Specialize in pistol grips
Shootin' out my momma's whip
Always got an empty clip
Top Dawg in this bitch
Nigga's puttin' dicks inside your baby momma's momma's lips
Shootin' all the witnesses, it ain't no f*ckin' murder scene
Crips don't f*ck with Crips oh now it's jeans that look like the rival team
Wrong hat and shoes, put your ass on the forever dream
Heatin' up the summer 'til the winter fall, spring clean
Ride out, big smoke
Re-up, big dope
Gs up, hoes blow
Freeze up, eyes closed
Ride out, big smoke
Re-up, big dope
Gs up, hoes blow
Freeze up, eyes closed
Young nigga and I'm proper like
Couple hundred thousand on me, nigga, yeah I'm baller like
Bitch I think I'm Dolamite, bitch I'm goin' poltergeist
You said this was overnight, me and Vince, we crackin' like
Crippin' in our afterlife
[Vince Staples:]
Yeah, cause at Ramona Park we beef with everybody
Light or dark I'll spark, don't f*ck with narcs
So don't be talkin' 'bout me
My big homie made me get 'em, kill 'em
Cause if I got 'em I'ma kill 'em, I ain't playin' with 'em
I'm from the bottom, that's the top of the town
We on the [?] so they clip us up for knockin' 'em down
My burner tucked, I learned from Chuck so I ain't turnin' it down
Get to bussin', know you bluffed it, nigga
If that bitch can't make me rich then ain't no need in f*ckin' with her
Turn around and f*ck her sister
Heard that bitch, got EBT
Long Beach ain't seen shit like me
Since Tracy D and DPG I went and got a burner
On the day they murdered Baby D
That ain't murder baby, heat
I'm in that Benz with Lil Boy
So lil boy don't play with me
I'm ridin' cycs through Hoover Street, my knuckles full of teeth
Try to creep on me, you're dyin' in your homie's seat
Keep to my gun and reach
Filet the beef, clip reach from Fig side to Norfolk Beach
In a stolen Expedition, in your hood cause you the mission
Been a mathematician, load nine, subtracted eight
I'm keepin' one for just in case, don't cover face but I ain't trippin'
Blunt was laced, niggas know I'm 'round the way
So ain't no liquor stores today
Ride out, big smoke
Re-up, big dope
Gs up, hoes blow
Freeze up, eyes closed
Ride out, big smoke
Re-up, big dope
Gs up, hoes blow
Freeze up, eyes closed
Young nigga and I'm proper like
Couple hundred thousand on me, nigga, yeah I'm baller like
Bitch I think I'm Dolamite, bitch I'm goin' poltergeist
You said this was overnight, me and Vince, we crackin' like
Crippin' in our afterlife
Ride, ride, ride, ride
Ride, ride, ride, big dope
Gs, gs, gs, gs, gs
Eyes closed
Ride, ride, ride, ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride
Writer: QUINCY HANLEY, VINCE STAPLES, MARK SPEARS
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
WHateva U Want
Now it's time to make our mind, oh babe
I don't feel a thing
You got the right one, hey, 2 step
Can I rock with ya? Can I smoke with ya?
Tryna give you an upgrade
Cherry bottles to your shapes
Take my debit and go cray
Spend, spend every dollar, all way
Turn your closet to a driveway
Your old nigga was the old days
Broke times in a broke place
Teary eyed with the pout face
You can get it how you want it, my love
Small shoppin', hope a hundred thousand enough
Benz, Benz, want the rims on the truck
Girl you livin' a no, stay in the goat
Whatever you want
Hey! Cribbo in the Hills
Table full of bills
Dollar dollar bills
Whatever you want
I can make it real
We, we can split a mil'
Prolly sellin' pills
Dollar dollar bills
Whatever you want
Whatever you, you, you, you, you, you
Whatever you want
Whatever you-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou
(West coast, Cali love, whatever you want)
Whatever you want
Good weed and pain pills
Big boy, we bringin' in big mills
Every dollar dollar bill caught wheels
Crib in the Hills if you call us, Net, chill
Fly around the world, girl you livin' or not?
We used to run from the cops, now we buyin' the blocks
Started ballin' like I said I would
Came up in the game I love
If you backed it you must get cuffed
So cold with the cobra love
Now I'm never in the hood enough
Had to get up off my ass to get it
Want it, pick it, tag, clip it, yeah
West coast, Cali love, you can have it all
Palm trees, bomb weed, whatever you want
Middle age millionaire, you can have it all
Sleeve gold, bankroll, whatever you want
Whatever you want
Hey! Cribbo in the Hills
Table full of bills
Dollar dollar bills
Whatever you want
I can make it real
We, we can split a mil'
Prolly sellin' pills
Dollar dollar bills
Whatever you want
Whatever you, you, you, you, you, you
Whatever you want
Whatever you-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou
(West coast, Cali love, whatever you want)
Whatever you want
I don't need your money, honey
I just want your love
Make it, tasty, nasty, crazy
Give it all you got
Diamonds last forever, baby
Look at what we got
I don't want your money, darling
I just want your love
Diamonds last forever, baby
Look at what we got
I don't want your money, darling
I just want your love
Writer: Donte Perkins, Quincy Hanley, Candice Pillay
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
By Any Means
[ScHoolboy Q & Kendrick Lamar:]
You can f*ck my bitch, you can have my hoe
Get yours, get yours, get yours by any means
You can smoke that kill, you can push that dope
Get yours, get yours, get yours by any means
You can steer that wheel, hit the gas and go
Get yours, get yours, get yours by any means
You can f*ck my bitch, you can have my...
I make a scene around me, hit the corner, Heaven, Hell
I come from pimpin', bangin', baby momma rockin' yayo
Was always Grandma's baby, Moms always kept in veil
I swear my cousin want me bangin', settin'
[ScHoolboy Q:]
Nigga f*ck all that, tryna go my road
I can take you back nigga, 'round '04
You can do clown dance, I'm a rob that store
You can paint your face, I'm a kick down doors
I'm a shoot my gun, I'm a free my locc
I'm a sell her tongue, I'm a tan that coke
I'm a dark my lungs, I'm a heal my soul
I'm a stack my bread, I'm a cop that boat
I'm a get them M's, I'm a whip that ghost
[ScHoolboy Q & Kendrick Lamar:]
You can f*ck my bitch, you can have my hoe
Get yours, get yours, get yours by any means
You can smoke that kill, you can push that dope
Get yours, get yours, get yours by any means
You can steer that wheel, hit the gas and go
Get yours, get yours, get yours by any means
You can f*ck my bitch, you can have my...
I make a scene around me, hit the corner, Heaven, Hell
I come from pimpin', bangin', baby momma rockin' yayo
[ScHoolboy Q:]
50 Crip, contraband for chips, sold all kinda shit
You know we on, turned that white to stone, just don't call my phone
From scrub to boss, shit my necklace gloss, plus my Bentley cost
You poppin' pills, shit we sellin' pills, pussy sell in heels
Her booty fat, f*ck her gluteus max, I'm still that groovy cat
Off 51st, yeah we pushin' work, all my pots is burnt
My section turnt, see my soda rise, dimes be super sized
Say yes to dope, cap that ends in "o"
[ScHoolboy Q & Kendrick Lamar:]
You can f*ck my bitch, you can have my hoe
Get yours, get yours, get yours by any means
You can smoke that kill, you can push that dope
Get yours, get yours, get yours by any means
You can steer that wheel, hit the gas and go
Get yours, get yours, get yours by any means
You can f*ck my bitch, you can have my...
Writer: RONALD LATOUR, QUINCY HANLEY, DAVEON LAMONT JACKSON
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, THE ADMINISTRATION MP INC
Dope Dealer
I got a sack of blue faces but my AR black
I got two bitches in my whip and they got hold my strap
I put the knife to the coca leaf and turn that crack
I put the nine to your coconut and pull that back
I see that motherf*cker shinin' snatch your whole damn throat
I got a strike in every pocket of my old ass coat
I use to fly around your city nigga no ID
I get a half and I'mma flip it gotta go OT
I think somebody getting bodied on the weekday, get out the way
I'm in my new clothes, now drop it for me for a bankroll
I'm lookin' like a motherf*ckin' dope dealer nigga
Where the hoes where the blow I'm just a dope dealer nigga
Paper in the paper bag I'm a dope dealer nigga
Bitch to beat his ass I'm a dope dealer nigga
F*ck your homies and the police I'mma dope dealer nigga
Couple diamonds in my rollie I'm a dope dealer nigga
Got the plug on the dodie I'm a dope dealer nigga
Better buck, your auntie know me I'm a dope dealer nigga
[E-40:]
Cali niggas is managin' we havin, Greedy
We got F 57s and we savages, beasty
My little niggas be ampin', they some P's, hustlers
Some of them sell candy some sell trees, customers
But personally I'm a rapper, and I'm spectacular, remarkable
Got a way with my words my lingo and vernacular, marketable
I beat a bitch down I promise you I ain't playin' (beat his ass)
Stomp his ass out throw him in the garbage can, the trash
The harder the trap you might find me snapping' bones
The sink on the soil eatin' dominos
Where the gumbo pots boil the taskforce radar homes, Vamonos
Heavy surveillance, hella copters and drones
I think somebody getting bodied on the weekday
Get out the way
I'm in my new clothes, now drop it for me for a bankroll
I'm lookin' like a motherf*ckin' dope dealer nigga
Where the hoes where the blow I'm just a dope dealer nigga
Paper in the paper bag I'm a dope dealer nigga
Bitch to beat his ass I'm a dope dealer nigga
F*ck your homies and the police I'mma dope dealer nigga
Couple diamonds in my rollie I'm a dope dealer nigga
Got the plug on the dodie I'm a dope dealer nigga
Better buck, your auntie know me I'm a dope dealer nigga
I got them egg whites and them oxtails for the low
Got them hot wheels gotta push start and it go
Got them 16's of the Act right and its sealt'
We on the frontline when its crunch time to get chilled
You us lil' niggas love gold chains and them whips
Make me rearrange your whole thang for my hip
I get this motherf*cker jumpin' bitch you know why I came
They told me Thou Shalt not kill when I jumped in the flame
I'm cocoo for the cocoa leaves and I turned it to dope
The money never grew on trees but I'm watching it grow
We talkin' cold watchin' hoes tellin' em that I keep
I get to swinging' on this chopper nigga, R.I.P
[Smacc:]
You heard what I mean,its your boy yeah its Smacc mane
Its better livin' with mines man you heard what I mean
We got break your bitch man we got send her back to you broke man
You funky cock biatch
White stones, panties gone, boom
2 phones, man he on, boom
Bank roll, hella hoes, boom
Big dope, blow your nose, boom
White stones, panties gone, boom
2 phones, man he on, boom
Bank roll, hella hoes, boom
Big dope, blow your nose, boom
Writer: Quincy Hanley, Leland Wayne, Joshua Luellen, Earl Stevens, Norman Whitfield, Paul Beauregard, Jordan Houston, Patrick Houston
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc., BMG Rights Management
JoHn Muir
Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
Never had a mothaf*ckin' weed card
I'm down to flatline a nigga, never been soft
Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
I was thirteen with my mothaf*ckin' heat, y'all
Nigga caught cases tryna take your f*ckin' screen off
I could put your f*ckin' life on the recall, uh, yeah
Lookin' for the bitches with the ass
Got an ice chain cause a nigga gettin' cash
Three different pagers blowin' up because I'm crackin'
Tryna turn a dollar to a million, ho, what's happenin'?
O-orange laces, for my shoestrings
Pistol on me, dunk this in her g-string
Ridin' in my mothaf*ckin' Coupe-Ville
Hoover with my mothaf*ckin' locs, steel
Figg side niggas keep a dope fiend
Ghetto bird, hit a kil', I ghetto hoop dreams
Tryna strike me out before I finish school
I was just a square nigga 'til I took my 52, oh, yeah, ayy
Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
We love, we go
We rise, we go
Our pride, we show
We love, we go
Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
Tryna get this mothaf*ckin' weed off
Gang injunctions tell me where we can't go
Shoot me in my back because my afro
Heard I got a stripe on my record then it's true
Cops effin' at my record, never told 'em what I knew
I was in my nigga car garage, yeah, I'm tryna shoot
I was out here sellin' dope at 14, what it do?
I was out here f*ckin' hoes at 14, what it do?
I was ditchin' class, fifth grade, yeah, I'm Groovy Q
Ain't no biggy when the small nigga rob, gimme loot
Pop a nigga on his mom's porch, kill his brother too
Nigga lost his first fade nine years after school
Nigga tryna get the Js, blue Chucks sick as flu
Runnin' from the crash unit like my name was State Farm
On my nigga's handlebars tryna get our groove on, yeah
Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
We love, we go
We rise, we go
Our pride, we show
We love, we go
Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
B-B-Bellin', bellin', bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
B-Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
Bellin', bellin' through tHe mothaf*ckin', bellin' street, y'all
B-Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
Bellin', bellin', bellin'
B-Bellin' through the mothaf*ckin' street, y'all
Mothaf*ckin' street, street, street, y'all
Writer: QUINCY HANLEY, MARK SPEARS, ADRIAN YOUNGE, W HART, D HENDERSON, T SIMON
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Downtown Music Publishing
Big Body
Hear ye, hear ye
You son of a bitch you
ScHoolboy Q and Tha Dogg Pound is in the motherf*ckin' house
So uh, get your skates, get your...
Get your issue funky bitch, you slow on your feet
Get your issue funky bitch, you slow on your feet
Get your issue funky bitch, you slow on your feet
Get your issue funky bitch, you slow on your feet
Man, them niggas ain't hot (hot)
Man, them niggas ain't cold (cold)
Man, them niggas ain't hot (hot)
Man, them niggas ain't cold (ain't cold)
Man, they jewelry ain't froze (ain't froze)
Man, them bitches won't go where your money don't grow
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Steppin' in my big blue Chucks
Groovy Q, they all wanna f*ck
Park the Cutlass at the pump
Hit the switches over speed bumps
Knocking six twelves in the trunk
Where the girls with the rump?
All the pretty bitches to the front
All you groupie niggas to the back
Put the 50s on the map
Got my Hoover star on the hat
Cause we groovin' like that
Yeah, we movin' like that
Swear to dick I shoulda made racks
Nigga, clean, dick in that cat
Got my Jimmy on strap
Like it when your booty get tapped (uh)
Why your jewelry ain't froze?
Why your money won't grow?
I move the pussy, can't fold (can't fold)
Bruh, you want a download
Cus, walk on Melrose (Melrose)
I'ma sling an elbow (elbow)
Get a job? Hell no!
Man, them niggas ain't hot (hot)
Man, them niggas ain't cold (cold)
Man, them niggas ain't hot (hot)
Man, them niggas ain't cold (ain't cold)
Man, they jewelry ain't froze (ain't froze)
Man, them bitches won't go where your money don't grow
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Woke and I'm already drunk
I'ma give these bitches what they want
Put this dick up in your rib
We could bring the party to the crib
Give them bitches dick to mouth and then doggy on the couch
Show up with the script, nigga bow
Nigga slanging D up in the drought
Before we bring the bitches out
Nigga west coast up in the house
Leave your trapping in the south
Bring the grooves to your feet
I could make a million every week
Bro this big body Benz ain't cheap
Why them bitches want me?
Bro you want it lowkey
Shit I probably OD, I'ma live it up free
Judge, no I never couldn't be
Everybody dance floor, what you got a man for?
Girl, I could do the pussy Rambo
Do I love her? Hell no
Man, them niggas ain't hot (hot)
Man, them niggas ain't cold (cold)
Man, them niggas ain't hot (hot)
Man, them niggas ain't cold (ain't cold)
Man, they jewelry ain't froze (ain't froze)
Man, them bitches won't go where your money don't grow
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
[Tha Dogg Pound & ScHoolboy Q:]
In a drop top shit, yeah the knock knock
6 in the morning and I'm yelling out don't stop
Money makes the world go 'round in case you didn't know
In case you didn't know about these pussies and these hoes
And these sluts, what's up? Heard they actin' up
If you don't give a shit then nigga we don't give a f*ck
I told you once before that this just how this shit go
ScHoolboy Q with Tha Dogg Pound flow, you know
We hella faded
Man f*ck that bitch, nigga why you fakin'?
Man f*ck that bitch, nigga why you hatin'?
F*ck that bitch, you trip
This is what you get
F*ckin' 'round with thisGet this G shit
TDE bitch
[Tha Dogg Pound:]
We ain't talkin', no conversation
We just bangin' around the nation
If you don't know now you should know that
F*ck that
We ain't talkin', no conversation
We just bangin' around the nation
If you don't know now you should know that
F*ck that
Man, them niggas ain't hot (hot)
Man, them niggas ain't cold (cold)
Man, them niggas ain't hot (hot)
Man, them niggas ain't cold (ain't cold)
Man, they jewelry ain't froze (ain't froze)
Man, them bitches won't go where your money don't grow
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Big body, big Benz
Writer: Quincy Matthew Hanley
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, THE ROYALTY NETWORK INC.
Neva CHange
Hoes ain't callin'
The cocaine rock
World keep spinnin'
The block stay hot
The block stay hot
The block stay hot
World keep spinnin'
Thank God for the game
My TV screen off the chain
My bitch, she off the chain
I came from the grain
The sidewalk chalk
The block stay hot
Paranoid, the cop that keep my gear in park
Pull me out the car to give me black thought
But f*ck it, this shit's all kinda player
This shit my mama flavor
This that raised by your granny, pistols and Now & Laters
Your pops was way too busy, missin' your mom's labor
Grew up just like your daddy
Packin' baggies in alleys
To where the streets is your family
Gettin' blurred by the same cop
Go to jail for a year and come home
Two of your niggas dropped
You know how that feelin' feel
What to feel when it's gettin' real
More bullets to go around
Come jump in this water, nigga
You still with your mama livin'
30 with no ambition
Your kid got no pot to piss in
You sayin' some nigga fake
You're selfish and sad, nigga
You're lame
And go on...
You hatin' on another man's success
Because the nigga blessed and wouldn't let you finesse
You got the game all twisted
You're leechin' worse than these ladies
Your inner nigga ain't aging
Reason the hood stay shady
[SZA:]
Who you do when you want?
Boy think you got this
No one here, on your own
Stuck in the same spot
What do you do? What do you do?
Hoes ain't callin' like you want
Only ones you got passed
No one here, on your own
Stuck in the same spot
What do you do? What do you do?
Hoes ain't callin'
The cocaine rock
World keep spinnin'
The block stay hot
Really with it forreal
We f*ckin' hoes forreal
Gettin' paper forreal, nigga
I play for the bills, nigga
I really sold pills
Smokin' weed for my ills
Breakin' weed in my whip
Just got an ounch on a bitch
Still our motive be commas
And still my life isn't promised
Still nervous as drivers
You see them lights get behind us
They pull me out for my priors
Won't let me freeze 'fore they fire
You say that footage a liar
They want my flow in the dryer
I'm at the top aimin' higher
My lawyers stay on retainer
When white folks point the finger
Place my neck on that hanger
Shit, no wonder we riot
Niggas still killin' niggas
Child support killin' niggas
Cops enslavin' us niggas
Little girls killin' mothers
They treat their kid like a brotha
Fathers stuck with them lifers
Kept it real with his niggas
But left his kid for the sucks
Shit no wonder we bang
Damn shame, mane, some things will never change
[SZA:]
Who you do when you want?
Boy think you got this
No one here, on your own
Stuck in the same spot
What do you do? What do you do?
Hoes ain't callin' like you want
Only ones you got passed
No one here, on your own
Stuck in the same spot
What do you do? What do you do?
Writer: Dacoury Dahi Natche, Larrance Levar Dopson, Quincy Matthew Hanley, Solana I. Rowe
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, Peermusic Publishing, BMG Rights Management
Str8 Ballin
Figured that I gotta sell dope, or the money won't grow
Figured I was Too Short, and I could never turn pro
You could tell I never had shit, but bet I get that 80 grand wrist
Told me we could never get rich
Now watch me ride the chevy hit the switch
Straight ballin' like a bitch
Aye, riding through the city on chrome
Ghetto nigga out the sunroof, hey, four keys nigga please
Straight ballin' like a bitch
Flossin' in the mind, stuntin' like the first, shufflin' the work
Uh, I done came from the dirt
Now the engine make the tire go skrrt
Used to sleep with roaches cracky uncle and all
Now a hundred thousand just a hour involved
So easy how I make a mill' flip
Snoop ain't the only rich crip nigga
From sleepin' on Tops couch to multiple bank accounts
To havin' me a mall for house
They tried to slim my chances as kid though
They always said I'd never make it big though
Straight ballin' like a bitch
[Ash Riser:]
Picture me rollin'
Straight outta the ghetto to a deal thats a apartment in the sky
I used to smoke bush, now all this kush got me so high
Yeah, so high
I used to smoke bush, now all this kush got me so high
Straight ballin' like a bitch
Straight ballin' like a bitch
So high
Straight ballin' like a bitch
Straight ballin' like a bitch
Straight ballin' like a bitch
Aye, wait, waitin' on my turn to get paid
Nigga trying to make a mill a day
Put that rental on in the interstate
Since a youngin' I was gifted
Momma gave me some things for the bitches
Bruh I go through some things you gotta witness
Stomach get to mumblin' at night
Watchin' every car that drive by, lookin' every driver in the eye
52nd enterprise, marchin' in these chucks like they boots
Money make a pussy get the juice
Money make the copper give a pass
Money make me cop a bigger roof
Money got me skippin' every class
Tryna kill em for the summer
The teachers ain't teachin' the judge taught us numbers
We was raised by single mothers
Pop once took us undercover
So in the streets we learned colors
Hiding from the reaper tryna' dodge the cage
This shit I've done to rhyme on this stage
I went from king of the the corner
To breaking down weed on my diploma
Straight ballin' like a bitch
[Ash Riser:]
Picture me rollin'
Straight outta the ghetto to a deal thats a apartment in the sky
Straight ballin' like a bitch
Picture me rollin'
I used to smoke bush, now all this kush got me so high
Yeah, so high
I used to smoke bush, now all this kush got me so high
Straight ballin' like a bitch
Straight ballin' like a bitch
So high, So high, Yeah
Straight ballin' like a bitch
Straight ballin' like a bitch
Straight ballin' like a bitch
Writer: GEORGE JR. CLINTON, WILLIAM EARL COLLINS, GARY LEE COOPER, OSTEN S. JR. HARVEY, TUPAC AMARU SHAKUR
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., A SIDE MUSIC LLC D/B/A MODERN WORKS MUSIC PUBLISHING
Black THougHts
Our experience to where we have parents in our lives that were showing us everything, like didn't nobody walk us, our hand and show love like you do this and don't do that. It wasn't like that coming up in our mothaf*ckin' community. We grew up off of cigarillos... we grew up off of second row, acting like them. A worldwide blade, a real strength....
Yeah that's on the regular
Smokin' the gas on the regular, man
Word
Sippin' on Hen, that's the regular
Pissy sofas, sharin' food with roaches, uh
I'm gangsta, Crip, my poppa was a bitch
Left me where hopeless don't exist
And every neighbor got a fence
With bars and windows, my mom's slavin' for the rent
Throwin' dices, GT dyno pool
Where you hang, we shootin'
You slip, we stiffin'
Creative Crippin', uh
Bitches stoppin' traffic
This the type of shit that make the MAC a classic
Reason I'm a pussy magnet
She learned to carry package
Been the best at rappin', uh
Am I this Vegas?
Your favorite rapper broke, he don't get this paper
But claim he got a kilo, been born in '93 though
He tryna fool the people
Maaaaaan
[Kendrick Lamar:]
The joke's on you, mothaf*cka
The loc is on you, mothaf*cka
I warned you, it's karma
Black thoughts and marijuana, it's karma
Black thoughts and marijuana, it's karma
Black thoughts and marijuana, it's karma
Ain't nothin' changed but the change
Let's put our brains away from gangs
Crips and Bloods the old and new slaves
Shit we even changed our names
Trying something, new shame while we bang
But yo, y'all ain't hearin' me
My homie facin' life, told me that my pride my biggest enemy
But... you keep your eyes in that dark
Your mind, it greys your heart
I wrote these rhymes days apart
Most of us caught before we can expand our thoughts
How your grandmother see your corpse?
How your big homie make your life a book?
Left you for dead cause he ain't need you, right
But I'm gon' fade him, right
Let's put the rags down and raise our kids
Let's put the guns down and blaze a spliff
Let's do it now, ain't no buts or ifs
It took a Blood to get me Pringle chips
You can learn to fly or take the ladder
Real nigga shit, all lives matter, both sides
Man
[Kendrick Lamar:]
The joke's on you, mothaf*cka
The loc is on you, mothaf*cka
I warned you, it's karma
Black thoughts and marijuana, it's karma
Black thoughts and marijuana, it's karma
Black thoughts and marijuana, it's karma
Writer: Quincy Matthew Hanley
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Blank Face
[Anderson .Paak:]
Who you tellin'?
Blank faces
Smokers, endorphines, hookers and beds
Dope in the vein, young and servin' the meds
Run from the police, jump from the ledge
Be what you wanna be as long as you get the money right, yeah
Niggas don't understand until you leap over 25
Dancin' with devils, never knew how to treat your woman right, yeah
Feet on the pedal runnin' over jokers and funny tops
Word to my OG, he gone, that nigga fresh out of strikes
I should know better, Heaven knows that I ain't the dummy type, nah
I should be flyin' home without a care
My baby don't want no toys, she want me there
I trade the noise for a piece of divine
I savor my coins for a piece of the land, ah
Something to pass while I'm passin' my prime
My word in the cards, full deckk in my hand
As sure as the smog is pollutin' the land
Be what you wanna be as long as you get the money right, yeah
UH...wise as my CHevy
My life's so f*cked up the drank don't get me buzzed
We ain't blood and tHey killed my cuz
CHuckin' Cs since I was a cub
Young nigga grew up on Hate but wHere's tHe love?
AsH and dubs on
[Anderson .Paak:]
Niggas don't understand until you leap over 25
Dancin' with devils
Guess you would say I wanted of the lucky type
No!
F*ck you thought?
Playin' tooth fairy, Santa before I'm buried
Easter egg Huntin', pickin' seeds out the pumpkin
Six years straigHt the valentine for my munchkin
I made a queen outta nothin'
Told me stay in scHool, my dream was just a small percentage
Said a million wasn't realistic
Last year I spent it, wHat's the laws of pHysics?
Move pounds or move down to Section 8 livin'
Grew up around Crippin', Woo business
[Anderson .Paak:]
And if I don't make it to 25 I swear to God I'm still gon' fly, nigga
But it's still my time, nigga
Tell me who gon' fly with me?
Yeah!
Who gon' ride with ya?
Who gon' fly with ya?
It's still my time, yeah
It's still my time, nigga, yeah
Writer: Quincy Matthew Hanley
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Overtime
Righteous, righteous
Woo!
Goddamn
[Miguel:]
Baby let me know it's mine
And I might put in overtime
Understanding overnight
You know tonight ain't a sober night
[Miguel & Kendrick Lamar:]
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck, yeah, I wanna f*ck, yeah
I wanna f*ck right now
In the bedroom geeked, while your clothes hang down
Chillin' all day, lovin' all night
Nice ass, and your stomach all tight
If your money ain't right, I should be in your life
Put it down when your boyfriend know, girl
Both hands where the sun won't show, girl
Meet you around four with the chauffeur
Keep a penny on top of my loafers
Keep a diamond on each of my tooth
I'm gettin' money like athletes
It can, it can go down in the backseat
I know all your right spots without asking, hey
[Miguel:]
Baby let me know it's mine
And I might put in overtime (that's right, yeah)
Understanding overnight
You know that I ain't the sober type
[Miguel & Kendrick Lamar:]
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck, yeah, I wanna f*ck, yeah
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck, yeah, I wanna f*ck, yeah
Girl you bangin, you dynamite
Keep an arch in your back when you do it like
F*ck with me, you be luxury day and night
Got me trickin' on everything overpriced
Can I hit it and skip all the love?
Leave your square and come chill with a thug
Girl I'm privileged, you know how the time be changin'
Know I'm hittin' it right when your core be shakin'
Why you hangin' with niggas that's missin' payments?
Keepin' my dollars on top of dollars
Netflix and chill when it's after hours
I should be in your room when you leave the shower
Hittin' them spots like you taught me 'bout 'em
Girl me and you got a lot in common
I'm the one you should call when you're done with clubbin'
Darlin' f*ck all the talk, let me show you somethin'
[Miguel:]
Baby let me know it's mine
And I might put in overtime (that's right, yeah)
Understanding overnight
You know that I ain't a sober type
[Miguel & Kendrick Lamar:]
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck, yeah, I wanna f*ck, yeah
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck, yeah, I wanna f*ck, yeah
[Justine Skye:]
Baby let me know it's mine
And I'ma put in overtime
That's right, you're understanding overnight
You know that I ain't the sober type
Tell me what you want and I might do it
I've been tryna figure out your motive, yeah
Get it up, I put it down, I'ma show you how I do it
Wanna feel them lips all over me
But first I gotta know you're into me
Ain't tryna tease
But I'm not the kind of girl that be sleepin' around
Let me tell you how I'm feelin'
If you're a man, be a man, I'ma give you the world
You gon' have to wait a little
You gon' have to show me that you know my love is strong
Got my heart in the middle
I gotta trust you a little
If I say I will, I'm up for thrill
[Miguel:]
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck, yeah, I wanna f*ck, yeah
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck right now
I wanna f*ck, yeah, I wanna f*ck, yeah
Writer: Quincy Matthew Hanley
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, THE ADMINISTRATION MP INC
Tookie Knows II
Oh, we might die for this shit, nigga
Uh, might go down for this shit, nigga
Gang, gang bangin' that crip shit
Niggas said cuz in the first grade
In the shade where the cops can't see us
Eighteen, tryna dodge the cage
It was cool 'til that gang sweep
Now I'm in back of a van
And my wrists got a band
Got a number for a name
No name on the visa, no card get accepted
Now I'm forced to a man
Murder raps, where you from?
Put the nigga on his pockets
Watch the cos, they be watchin'
County news for the hustle
County spread for the muscle
Couple marks on my knuckles
Puttin' niggas on bunk status
Shoulda been with the bitch ass
Now he on a mattress that we bench press
Pc, get the fruit loops
Keep tellin' on niggas
Why I f*ck with that nigga?
Nigga made bail but I'm still at rage
Should I thank god for the hell I raised?
Cause the nigga that snitch is gonna feel that grave
Like, ain't nothin' to a locc, huh?
Went missin' to his folks, I ain't in, I ain't know, huh?
They ain't show up to the court, huh?
But then charges gotta go, huh?
A young nigga back on fig
H-crown on wig
Shoe strings say where I'm from
On probation and got my gun
Other side goin' for that thumb
Motherf*cker, I'm gangbanging
Nigga I'm blue'd up, blue chucks
Blue tee, nigga I keep it g
Nigga, in the streets is where I be
I'm up like breakfast while niggas sleep
Me and floyd posted on fig
Getting it in and movin' it out
Getting it in and movin' it out
I'm holdin' the heat, he's watchin' the block
I'm watchin' for cops, I'm holdin' these rocks
Fiends keep comin', this shit don't stop
When it's war time, niggas get popped
We might die for this shit off tops
My nigga gonna ride for this crip, no lie
But I ain't dead, yeah, nigga, thank god
Money got niggas lookin' at me all odd
Punk ass niggas better go get a job
Run up on me wrong, bitch, nigga get popped
I'm gon' ride for this shit, on crip
A nigga gon' die for this shit then trip
4/5th extendo, with fifty in the clip
Tf by my side, he stupid with this shit
Q in the ride grippin' on the fifth
Run up on me wrong
My nigga, my nigga, my nigga, I'm gang banging
Uh, might go down for this check, nigga
Uh, I might die for this set, nigga
I ain't trippin nigga, I ain't slippin'
Niggas lyin' sayin' I ain't crippin'
Back to back, me and tiny smack
I said back to back, straight cups of 'gnac
Niggas ask, what he signed for?
I got an eight ball, I got a rondo
I got an ak when that bitch spray
It's like pullin' strings on a lawnmower
Last time I seen jail, nigga
I was cell livin', getting mail in it
I ain't even talkin' mail, nigga
Pay-pals for the cell, nigga
Hit the streets and cause hell, huh?
School of hard knocks, f*ck yale, huh?
See me and traffic like a orca nigga
And the black and whites love whale watch
Front line like mailboxes
5-12, that's the numbers on it
May first, may deuce, may twelfth, members only
.45, no numbers on it
Scratched down, I'm strapped down
Might go down for this shit
If I don't then I'm racked down
Rank up there with shaq crown
I got a benji button like brad pitt
I press that, I'm gettin' rich
I might go down for this shit
We might die for this shit nigga
Might go down for this shit nigga
Gang, gang bangin' that crip shit
We might die for this shit nigga
Might go down for this shit nigga
Gang, gang bangin' that crip shit
We might die for this shit nigga
Might go down for this shit nigga
Gang, gang bangin' that crip shit
We might die for this shit nigga
Writer: Quincey Hanley, Mario Loving, Nesbitt Wesonga, Mychal Hatch, Derraile Cail
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.