Testo Star Signs [Remix] - Costa Titch
Testo della canzone Star Signs [Remix] (Costa Titch), tratta dall'album Legends (Remix)
I've been winning for a long time
I think it's written in my star sign
Sauce, so fire
Wish you could see it with your own eyes
Kick out the shoes, hop in the swimming pool, splash
Who got the juice? Who got the Liquifruit? Cash
Who got the salt? Who got the minerals?
Man, we at the top, we at the pinnacle
Finally made it to the big time
Came a long way from the underground tryna figure out
How to keep my feelings inside while I'm looking out
I don't fuck around
I be getting so much money niggas
Probably think I'm signed to Mabala now
Summer after summer, if you never done it
You gon' have to shut your fucking mouth
I'm a God now
Let the Lamborghini doors down, check the scoreboard now
All my niggas wanna know how the sport mode sound
Fuck this material shit
Don't give a fuck what your vehicle is if you can't move crowds
How many eras? How many times I invented a whole new style?
Yeah, I remember niggas used to give
Up on their dreams and go do house
Now I look around everybody got a 22 carat gold tooth smile
I don't even want the credit, I just wanna be remembered
Even young niggas coming up say, "Mega you old school now"
But how you still so relevant?
In an era where niggas sound so American
No pride in their own heritage, whole vibe so negative
Ain't nobody gon' remember them
Dose of your own medicine
House rent on the outfit, that's credit
All my niggas on the couch here made it out here on merit
Section full of yes-men and they all got vendettas
Best friends turn to ex-friends who worried bout aesthetics
Fuck 'em let's get it
Kick out the shoes, hop in the swimming pool, splash
Who got the juice? Who got the Liquifruit? Cash
Who got the salt? Who got the minerals?
Man, we at the top, we at the pinnacle
All of my niggas is litty
All of my bitches are pretty
Golden child of my city
Hundred cows for the wedding
Overseas like Benny
Kicking ass like Kenny
Cheddar cheese, that's dairy
Buck a seed like jelly
Fan love, rack up
Mad plugs at the embassy
Don't shit where you sleep
Don't eat with your enemy
Mask on, mask off
I keep living through your energy
Man up, act tough
Why you niggas so sensitive?
Slide in the DM with Vaseline
All of my niggas smoke gasoline
I'm busy living my fantasy
I ain't fucking with your backpack to the city rap activities
Jam-packed itinerary
I ain't looking back like I'm driving meter cab or a black limousine
Rack city, rack rack city, bitch, whack niggas catch guillotines
Can't match my ability
Is you feeling me?
Yeah we on top of the pyramid
Niggas smoking that cheap shit
Still sipping on Belilin
All my niggas rock Vetements
Y'all need to finish your Weebix
Time to re-up on your vitamins
I got two Mandela pieces
That's what I call born free shit
Used to beatbox, now Reebok got me on some Bruce Lee shit
One-seventy grand t-shirt
That Givenchy shit
No Domino's pizza
I've been winning for a long time
I think it's written in my star sign
Sauce, so fire
Wish you could see it with your own eyes
Kick out the shoes, hop in the swimming pool, splash
Who got the juice? Who got the Liquifruit? Cash
Who got the salt? Who got the minerals?
Man, we at the top, we at the pinnacle
Super Mega had to promise me
Don't forget about your honesty
You gon' always runnin' like an allergy
When a nigga ego match his balance sheet
Me and B share a legacy
Of bad grammar and a booking fee
Both grandmas were bad mannered
But they had character you couldn't tweak
Different cloth, see the two-piece
Stogie big enough for two me's
You thick as ox skin, think I lost it
Written off like I couldn't free
How ironic, so much Gucci but no material or music
I'm iconic, out in public I say your name you wouldn't do shit
Different nigga, no comparing
Used to living off your parents
Goofy lyrics on the air
They took the Mickey, I don't care
My children in Disneyland, Paris
This the sauce, this the antidote
Got me travelling through Charles de Gaulle
Stamps in Lusaka, I'm abroad
Can't get Mufasa'd by antelopes, no
House rent on the outfit, that's credit
All my niggas on the couch here made it out here on merit
Section full of yes-men and they all got vendettas
Best friends turn to ex-friends who worried bout aesthetics
Fuck 'em let's get it
Kick out the shoes, hop in the swimming pool, splash
Who got the juice? Who got the Liquifruit? Cash
Who got the salt? Who got the minerals?
Man, we at the top, we at the pinnacle
Credits
Writer(s): Kiernan Jarryd Forbes, Boitumelo Ndida Sinqumo Molekane, Benn Gilbert Kamoto
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