In this track, Key Glock reflects on his tumultuous upbringing and the hardships he faced growing up. Raised by his grandmother while his mother was incarcerated, he recounts his rebellious youth and early encounters with crime. The lyrics delve into themes of survival and resilience, highlighting how he navigated a life filled with danger and adversity. Despite these challenges, Key Glock's narrative emphasizes his determination to succeed and secure financial stability. His journey from a troubled past to achieving wealth is marked by an unyielding hustle and a refusal to be deterred by obstacles. 💸 #StreetLife #Resilience
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Lyrics
Glizzock
Big Glock, yeah (yeah)
(Ceeo, turn that beat up)
I was raised by my grandma, young nigga was bad as hell
Know my mama wanna rap 'cause she did 15 years in jail (on God)
Used to walk up in the class, the teacher askin', "What's that smell?" (Swear)
Then she looked me in my eyes and tell me (what?) "Boy you high as hell" (I know)
Well, I can't help myself, baby, you know I'm a player (you know)
Baby, you know real is rare (you know), you can't get this everywhere (no)
Lord, forgive me, I be sinning, every night I say my prayer (yeah)
I go ign'ant with the semi, I'ma shoot 'til nothing left
I caught my first charge then I went on the run (yeah)
Caught my first body, then named me after a gun (Glizzock)
Bought my first chopper, then I went, threw in a drum, yeah
Lil' bitch, I'm a don, I'm my mama's only son, one of one (yeah, Glizzock)
It ain't nothing but killas and hustlers from where I'm from (gang)
I just stack my commas, remain humble and don't crumble (yeah)
These young niggas muggin' and they clutchin' if you mumble (yeah)
Thuggin', hotter than a summer (hot)
Got a trey-eight, I was in the eighth grade (yeah)
Nigga tried to play, I tried to take off his fade (yeah, yeah)
I didn't play no games, I cut the checks like spade
Yeah, money what I crave, bitch, I'm eating everyday
Let the chopper kick, yeah, yeah, karate, uh
Pull up with the stick, clap, clap, like a raid, yeah
You know I'ma hit, yeah, yeah, I got aim
All these extended clips, yeah, yeah, I got flame
Fuck the fame, I won't change for no changes, got some chains
And my rings look like rain, shit, I could have bought a Range
And my wrist hurricane, I work a bitch like a maid (yeah)
Everyday gettin' paid until I'm up in a grave (yeah)
I count my first hundred K and I was so amazed (whole hundred K)
I had no time to play, yeah, I had plays on plays (plays on plays)
I was servin' J's in my J's, get my cake (my cake)
Yeah, I went to school late 'cause I kept that grade A
Okay (okay), I was on a roll everyday to the bank (okay), yuh
Ain't no limit to this shit, I might go buy a tank, yuh
Pull up smoking Mary Jane, pocket full of Franks, yuh
You niggas too damn lame, I do what you can't, yuh
Gang shit, bang, yuh, thirty clip, hang yuh
Flame like K, yuh, wrist, neck, rain, yuh
Umbrella Wraith, yuh, Rollie Day-Date, yuh
Put it in your face, yuh (yuh, yuh, yuh, yuh)
Bitch tried to play me I was like, "No way"
You get up in my way and it'll be a cold case
I shot my first opp with a revolver, no trace, yeah
Until this very day, I hit my knees and still pray (yeah)
Writer(s): Markeyvius Cathey
Copyright(s): Lyrics © The Administration MP, Inc., Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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