Up the stakes when yo homies eating
Im in a place where its no competing
Im at The Crate on my only weekend
Visiting though I live here
Tired from having good years
Hardly home but I'm good here
Red bone with some good hair
Text my phone "you playing with all this good here"
Bitch please you belong to trap, facts
Im well aware of all the whores I attract
My son need a sibling, I'm not the one they play with
The work could make ya day shift
A trapper with a play list
Had some conversations, that you niggas aint this
Put money where they mouth is bet they never say shit
Saw some doves when the Porsche fly
Take it in blood if you gone try
Its only love when the scores tied
Hope ya dawgs ride
Its never no helping hands if you purchase weight
Imagine a second chance at ya first mistake
Hot boy, six bands on the walk in
In six weeks, it's six hands on the coffin
The streets talking, I don't give a ear to that
Let these niggas gas a bitch i 'ont give her air for that
I make a career of rap
They fully aware of that
Few niggas from grade school talkin money where it's at
Worried what he making got you f*ckin up ya placement
In the basement writing pieces you niggas writing statements
Still wake up in state pens wonder where ya day went
Niggas practice all ya moves but never practice patience
Saw some doves when the Porsche fly
Take it in blood if you gone try
Its only love when the scores tied
Hope ya dawgs ride