Testo The Plug - Berner
Testo della canzone The Plug (Berner), tratta dall'album Urban Farmer
Burner, what up, nigga?
It's that urban farmer shit
It's that driving slow in a fast car
Burning weed
The zip underneath the seat
Uh
I'm drinking two bottles at the same damn time
Placing orders and can't even finish all of it
No fold in my loot, no hoes in my crew
No claws in my chain, my car got no roof
The riders with me everywhere and all of 'em shoot
Probably heard some things about me, man, and all of 'em true
'Bout how we came from nothing to something
Niggas eased up in the game, I just jumped in
I was 16 selling CDs and hustling
Had to learn fuck niggas not to trust in
Made a way so now they treating me like royalty
And fuck the money niggas riding over loyalty
But when it come to money I'm all about it so to speak
Put on for my dogs, do anything for my queen
Four eyes rest, I'm living the dream
Wake up to marble on the floor, heated toilet seats
I'm balling hard, you should enjoy the seats
I bet this hundred thousand cash ensure your belief
That if you work hard then this what you could earn
As the kush burn, uh
Let me hear it
I'm fresh picked from the hills, red eight inch heels
On my new bitch, she brought me all big face bills
In my Chevrolet dizzy, you don't know how it feels
To lose a mil' in two months, shit's way too real
I saw my mom last night, one hell of a dream
She told me keep your head up and follow your dream
Empty bottles of lean and white cups in her hand
Looking half dead, sad, but I don't try to understand
I rock Louis 'cause I can, I brought eighty-four grams
And only fuck with bitches that put money in my hands
I'm playing hundred dollar hands, 20K at the Palms
I drink all day long and throw some dank in the bong
My whip's too clean, I bet they hate that I ball
I throw two shots back without a chaser at all
I let the stones in my pinky ring talk for me, dawg
And I don't talk numbers with random cats in the club
I throw a fifty pack on the back of the truck
And get a crazy rush when I get to wrapping 'em up
No fingerprints, bought a fresh package of gloves
I'm blowing bud in the club, come fuck with the plug
I stay mind fucking bitches, baby, give me the cash
I'm still haunted by my past, bullets shattered the glass
Them shells on the floor, caught up with 'em fast
I'm watching time fly, the coke tucked tight in the stash
My old head told me slow down 'fore I crash
I try and listen but I'm living like tonight is my last
In my all black fit, drunk and ready to shoot
In the coupe so dope, I don't know what to do
In the crib so big I can't get to my room
I crashed out on the couch in my jeans and my shoes
Drinking booze in the afternoon, smoking on hash
Two hits off the dab, boy, I'm gone off wax
Cartier frames on my 501s
I'm in the slums with a millionaire, high end drunk
They try to stay tied in with the high end plug
I'm like a king with this weed, bitch, I am bud
Six slugs in my .38
I told lil' mama go and get her money straight
I told Wiz break the weed down and roll up a Seamus
And watch fools run away when we finally blaze it
I'm so high
Credits
Writer(s): Cameron Jibril Thomaz, Alex Christian Jean Petit, Gilbert Anthony Jr Milam
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