Testo Quiet Storm - Quake Matthews feat. PsycThaPrince
Testo della canzone Quiet Storm (Quake Matthews feat. PsycThaPrince), tratta dall'album Quiet Storm (Remix)
So they tellin' me ain't no rest for the wicked
When you blessed and you gifted
I'm busy in the stu', I tell her text when I'm finished
You take a shot, make sure it's direct when you send it
I don't do the sub dissin', I'm too busy bud twistin'
But look, when that nigga mention my name, was he statin' facts?
He mention how we dick ride? How we swagger jack?
Did he mention his baby moms, how I'm baggin' that?
Fuck a tweet, I'd rather send a shot through a MAGA hat
I'm turnin' dirt into diamonds, applyin' pressure
Same clothes, braids, so fuzzy they look censored
Hot-headed temper, got karma through the lectures
But spent many days in the lab, nutty professor
When some real niggas enter the room and send a message
They tryna make they way to the exit, they fear the presence
Check it, I been good with the arms, I'm ambidextrous
Put my neck out on the line for niggas
Plottin' on my necklace (It's the real)
This the real shit, know the beat'll kill shit
Body fuckin' up, they pop the Perc off in the pill sink
Get it from my dog and he sell it to me raw uncut
Mixed with the Benzo in the blender, turn a quarter to one
Bro, this the drill shit, usually on my chill shit
Until a nigga trip, I frrt, frrt, hit the kill switch
Rap fam, they tell shit, and anybody warrin' with us
Double the load, last time, we didn't order enough
I been walkin' in Lucifer's shoes, they the best fit
Don't let me catch yo' bitch number, that's a text sent
I had to straighten up my act, I'm gettin' less bent
And plantin' my feet in the ground like I'm Fred Flintstone
I'm that nigga, stone cold on the bender
Rose gold on the pinky like home in December
That's cold, my goonies like, "Chromes, fuck your shit up"
No chrome on the whip, we roll slow with the tint up
I'm drippin', BVLGARI cologne, hoes in my denim
Food gang money, uh, fork in the emblem
All my broads comin' too, I got the juice, I got the venom
Use protection, say they usually don't do it, but they flexin'
Fuck a fraud, put the paws on 'em like Clemson
Roll a Dutch, smokin' on that Red Dead Redemption
CashApp, it ain't payin' direct, they pay attention
Sprite mixed with cough medicine's a match made in heaven
We some legends
We some legends, yeah
I'm reminiscin' over airport lunch
Back to when I was schemin' to get my feet inside some Air Force 1s
Now I'm headed to the UK, whole life in a suitcase
Red eye flight, soon as I land, it's a new day
Hop in the van and head straight to the stu' day
'Cause I'm inspired, I need to catch it 'fore it's too late
It's called desire, when I engage, catch a bouquet
Of funeral flowers, feel Lucifer's beautiful power
Haha, shit, I got 'em all sour now
Like I don't know who your status 'bout
You got great fuckin' timing when I'm outta town
Man, somebody need to take your phone and power down
Coward, damn, they used to big up my name
But when you get your shit up, they switch up and change
Liquor and rage get mixed up in jealousy cocktails
Then they blame you for they pain
Watch how they bitch up and root for the lames
Misery loves company, but truth shall remain
So go ahead and lead your team down that blinded path
Sell 'em the dream knowin' that you'd never buy it back
I still hear you even though I never fire back
'Cause I got ears everywhere like a wiretap
Bitch, I ain't got no time for that
I'm a grown man, puto, no ice in the Hugo
That's how you keep it lowkey when the bag come
I met Prodigy before he passed
And he looked me in my eyes and told me, "Your shit is cash, Dunn"
Now I'm feelin' like the last one left
It's the real
Hip-hop
Credits
Writer(s): Kejuan Waliek Muchita, Albert Johnson, Kimberly Jones, Melvin Glover, Sylvia Robinson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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