Testo Where Would I Go - Benny The Butcher feat. Rick Ross
Testo della canzone Where Would I Go (Benny The Butcher feat. Rick Ross), tratta dall'album Burden of Proof
(Hit-Boy)
You know, real
Real big boss shit, distinguished gentleman shit
Real street nigga shit, nigga, yo
Jumped in the game feet first and I paid for my actions
Hospital stays, laid up, related to asthma
And all I knew was chase paper in a dangerous fashion
Them boxes came to my crib with my name on the package
Mama, I made it, rose petals and gold shevеls
Ask the team, we all cop gold bеzels at those levels
So on my wrist and as well as my hip, it's cold metal
This kind of game only run through your veins and your bone marrow
It cost me, they tell me, "Be humble", they think I'm flossy
But I probably am, I got this out the concrete
I stood in front of buildings, sold dope 'round this coffee
Wearin' Barkleys, I just parked the 740 by a palm tree
That's real shit, nigga
Stuck to the plan from out the sand, get rich and share it
When you a dope boy, this the life that your bitch inherit
She wanna fuck me on a yacht and take a trip to Paris
I buy her expensive pussy and she forget to wear it
Big dope when you thought of my block
I bought a brand new pistol when I thought of the opps
I had the money on the road 'fore the water got hot
And I still remember who owe, case y'all thought I forgot
The Butcher comin', nigga
It's the biggest
Desired to fit in, I was invited
Pistol whipped a few niggas, he got indicted
When you facin' for years, it's time to fight it
I shook the prosecutor right back, Johnny Unitas
Perry Mason, nigga, Gary Payton
Double M nigga, I live amazin'
Dope boy alumni, such a classy unit
All double R's at the class reunion
Pistol heavy, the money bagger
Niggas at me, up the ladder
Franchises, rappers, they can't size us
Flew out of state just to stand beside us
For selfies, that boy wealthy
Four-floor condos, that nigga selfish
Waterfalls and all, he been to salesmen
I speak with my heart, I rarely talk a lot
Went from Ford to Ferrari, look at the parkin' lot
Seatbelts, never, that's a common law
'Cause when the shots fired, fat boy ain't hoppin' out
It's time to explain this just what your songs 'bout
'Cause when your homie got shot up, you cut your phone off
Only where I go is where I wanna be
My niggas all on top, it's what I wanna see
My kids in a mansion, they got a hundred rooms
Playin' hide and seek for weeks, what you wanna do?
Always talkin' shit, get me or Soul the most
To all my niggas broke, Belaire Rose, we toast
Always keep your word and keep your mama close
You ride for your brother, teach your son the ropes
You never want it back, a blessing get the most
And Rolex on your wrist, don't let it cost your soul
M-M-M-Maybach Music
Credits
Writer(s): Chauncey A. Hollis, William Leonard Roberts Ii, Jeremie Scorpio Pennick
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