Testo Ronnie Drake - Isaiah Rashad feat. SZA
Testo della canzone Ronnie Drake (Isaiah Rashad feat. SZA), tratta dall'album Cilvia Demo
I mean
I mean, I been thinking
Nah
Alright, Rob, this the one, last one, check me out
You sure?
So don't call me a nigga, unless you call me "my nigga"
I'm a king, O.E. be slipping, falling from my chalice, ugh
Don't mind the bumper that was missing from my carriage, ugh
It's poorly tinted, but my women not embarrassed
I came to bury you average, uh, you feel slighted, ayy
It's like she know that I got it, it feel like it
Ayy, I real-life it, ayy, I spill vices
Ayy, you will like it, I promise it's trill vomit, I'm honest
Nigga, ain't no getting money on that conscious shit
I'ma just load my gat on some survival shit
And when I hear they got a drought on it
I take a month out of rap, and I hustle 'til I'm out of it
I got that coke flow, ugh, that heat rock
I got that old school, huddle to the beatbox
Baby, I'm just digging in your gushy for the sweet spot
I'ma beat that, 'til that motherfucking beat drop, bitch!
I got love for my niggas, my killers
My dealers, my trickers, my bros
I got love for my sisters, my women
My bitches, my strippers, my hoes
I got love for my niggas, my killers
My dealers, my trickers, my bros
I got love for my sisters, my women
My bitches, my strippers, my hoes
I got love for my niggas (ayy)
Hope they don't kill you 'cause you Black today
They only feel you when you pass away
The eulogy be so moving, we live the scenes of those movies
Conflict in school or dope moving, it's so youthful
But if you die today
I hope you findin' some relief, oh, what a great escape
We still dodging from polices when we make a plate
They lying, searching in my bucket with the straightest face
It could be '88
Sometimes, I wonder why we killers, why they killing us
I think we only wear a grill because they grilling us
Or how they feeling us, gotta look real and tough
Gotta keep your hands in the cart, know you stealing stuff
Came a long way from a boat and an auction
Now, we got names and a vote, then a coffin
Ain't shit change but the coast we adopted
Little Black children, you can call me "that nigga," nigga
I got love for my niggas, my killers
My dealers, my trickers, my bros
I got love for my sisters, my women
My bitches, my strippers, my hoes
I got love for my niggas, my killers
My dealers, my trickers, my bros
I got love for my sisters, my women
My bitches, my strippers, my hoes
I got love for my nigga
Credits
Writer(s): Solana I. Rowe, Tyran Levon Jr Donaldson, Isiah Rashad Mcclain
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