Testo 4th Quarter - Willie The Kid feat. V Don, Jai Black & Flee Lord
Testo della canzone 4th Quarter (Willie The Kid feat. V Don, Jai Black & Flee Lord), tratta dall'album Deutsche Marks 2
Don't mind me, uh
Let that man get past me
Ayo
This beat smell like a trench coat, obey the cold
It gets colder when you come around coyotes, cousin
Calamity, unfortunate to suffer consequences
Over shit that never really wasn't
You fuckin' cowards, the game turned sour
Shower me in fake compliments, compete in secret
Jealousy's a weakness
Niggas try to disarm you in a plot to harm you
The upper crust be the flakiest, I must alarm you
Bullet wound aesthetics, believe us, atheists
Ricochet hit your gall bladder, shatter your pancreas
Don't make me compromise my position
'Cause honestly, you rapper niggas not in no position
To joust, my circle small like your mama house
You niggas small time, Willie the all time great
Fuck the small talk, from generating small fortunes
To big fish in a small pond, no small portions
Pour champagne, cop Porsches, hang portraits
Until my name start popping up on Forbes list
Gorgeous, moving accordingly, you out of order
I cut the ribbon, brick and mortar, fourth quarter
Uh, for my physical, we pop multi VJ early
The human highlight, the SportsCenter replay worthy
Don't worry, my sturdy, it wasn't tampered
My jersey hung in rafters
Your lineage that of niggas who hustle backwards, yo
My training method got my brain respected
By prize fighters, bright thinkers, they Einsteiners
And snakes lie where that fine line was between the love and hatred
A life's taken, so your gun is sacred
Fine dining how my lunch is plated
Snapper with the salsa verde
I'm on my third plate, superb wordplay, yes
I turned the block into my workplace, I tax per day
I'm throwing stacks in my bitch bag for per se
Whoa, that's a lump in the clutch
Wax bags and rubber bands, bundles and up
Yup, huh, the top is the bottom of my peep
Overseeing, one enlightened supreme being, peace
This shit sound like, uh, connecting music
I'ma push my pen long as my bread keep moving
In the red seats cruising, I just left East Houston
Tryna put the play together, but the dreads keep shooting
Lord Mobb my code name, hot as propane on a stove range
My kind of music drive its own lane, uh
Do the knowledge, grown man, we buy our own land
Hijacking and we strapping, we just pirates on sand, uh
Breaking off the plates and shaking off the drugs
We just baking raw cake and let the whole club taste it
Bars on display like a scar on your face
Book Flee for a session and get charged for the day
Approach like a wolf when he wounded the deer
Inside a five in your head, I put tunes in your ear
Yo, I be looking at the future, they be choosing to stare
Spit that rage off the page, I be using my fears
Doing projects in a week that'll take 'em a year
Nigga, your feet fell asleep 'cause you was
Glued to the chair, pussy (Motherfucker)
Hahaha, nigga, I said your feet fell
Asleep 'cause you was glued to the chair
Yo, what the fuck is up, woe?
Appreciate you, kid, we got work to do
Lord Mobb
Credits
Writer(s): Tivon Key, Willie L. Buckley, David Paul Cordova
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