Unleashing the raw energy of the urban jungle, this track serves as a gritty anthem for those who hustle hard. 🌆💰 It's a braggadocious narrative about street life, wealth, and survival in the face of adversity. The artists use vivid imagery to depict their rise from humble beginnings to fame and fortune. They're not just talking about monetary work but also the 'work' they put into their craft, relationships, and personal growth. The remix adds more voices to this tale of ambition, each bringing their unique perspective on what it means to 'put in work.' At its core, it's an unapologetic celebration of resilience and determination - a testament that success often comes from relentless grind and persistence. So whether you're in New York or Trinidad, remember to hustle hard because that's what puts you on the map! 💪🌍
Work REMIX
Lyrics
I gotta close the window before I record
Cause New York don't know how to be quiet
Coogi down to the socks like I'm Biggie poppa
Keep your girl head in my Tommy boxers
But really though, she a silly ho
Cause you know the Fergenstein getting plenty dough
She don't get nothin' from a n**** though
All she get is hard dick and some Cheerios
Kinda silly though, but I'm lyrical
Bet I put him in the dirt with the penny loafs
No tint though, on my window
So you see a n**** shining in the Benzo
Balling! Got me feelin' like Jim Jones, I'm a pimp though
No limp though, couldn't copy my style in Kinkos
Put in work, run up on a killer then I put him in the dirt
Run up in the buildin', semi gon' squirt
That's what a n**** get when they getting on my nerves
I ain't lying, lay 'em on the curb
Riding on a killer who be coming at Ferg! (Damn)
Girl you twerk, twerk that kitty girl make it purr
Put in work, Flacko put 'em in the dirt
French got the shovel he gon' put him in the earth
Trinidad maniac with a all gold hearse
Yeah, uh, put in work
Schoolboy Q with a pound of the purp
So much work he'll smoke up the Earth
Polo Ground, A$AP World
(Han!) That ain't Kanye
That's Montana, loose cannon
He shot me so I had to do it
Put him in the dirt, put him in it first
I just sold a swammy with ten hommies on it
Her a** fat, you could park ten Tahoes on it
When they mask up, comin' for your ice
When they bare-faced, they comin' for your life
Baby don't pray for me pray for the weak
I'm drinkin' lean, it help me sleep
Illuminati? I'm from the streets
Never sold my body, we takin' bodies
Put in work, put in work
Put in work, put 'em in the dirt
Shout out that motherland, 12 years old with guns in hand
They don't ask no questions, n****, all they do is bang bang bang
They don't ask no questions, all they do is bang bang
I said I do this for them shottas, Trinidad I love ya
I do this for them shottas, Jamaica I'm your brother
I know a b**** from VI, yeah yeah yeah that's my partner
You got a problem with it, then, then, then, then that's your problem
I f*** with Asian n****s and I f*** with Migos
I f*** with Haitian n****s, all they speak is Creole
I said all I speak is real, y'all n****s might hate me but
That don't get no deal, I said no that don't get no deal
I just now got my deal, but I been gettin' this money
No green card in this struggle, immigration give you nothing but work
(Put it in work)
Yawk-yawk, yawk-yawk!
A lotta n****s died, should've been from Hoover Street
No I do not have a car, but I could buy one every week
Pimpin' like I'm 33, move keys like I'm 36
Ship O's like I'm 28, Tacoma know I'm pushin' weight
O-X-Y I'm in your state, eatin' off your dinner plate
My heart live where Santa stay, super fly, I need a cape
B****es throwin' p**** back and forth, they on my dick
Pa**ion drippin' off her lip, she say she never had a crip
Uh, put in work, all big booties make ya twerk
All big titties lift your shirt, show a player what you're worth
Yeah, put in work, spray his a** in front the Church
Deacon said I did my s***, the pastor said, "That n**** turnt"
Pop my collar on my shirt, make these b****es go berserk
Shippin' units, Captain Kirk, takin' xannies poppin' percs
Might not last, I'll bomb ya first, turn your backseat to a hearse
Back to the lab with mother Earth, had to give Young Ferg a verse
A lot of homies cried, due to crimes, homicide
Drivin' by, poppin' nines, Pakistan, Columbine
Out of line, pistols barkin' "Ar, ar" ride or die
Write a script, design a line, all I see is dollar signs
You want that pretty Flacko? Ratchets, designer jackets
The same n****s who jack it be the first who claim we faggots
My b**** is a movie actress, side b**** won a beauty pageant
Got a chick that worked at Magic
But I'm so damn fine make a b**** look average
See my daddy in heaven, right next to Ferg's
You know what's up I'm throwin' bucks, Loaded Lux, put in work
Writer(s): RAKIM MAYERS, QUINCEY HANLEY, DAROLD DURARD BROWN, KARIM KHARBOUCH, NICHOLAS WILLIAMS, STEVEN PUGH
Copyright(s): Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, The Administration MP, Inc., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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