FYM
Lyrics
Picture me putting my city all over the map
(Whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah)
They wasn't believers
I had to get even at math
(What, what, what, what) be coming
I'm pulling and jumping all over your grass
(Yeah, yeah, whoa, whoa, uh)
So tell all my bitches I got a new girl
Tell the police that I'm
Robbing the bank and
I want all of my 50's in cash
Bitch, I'm tired of living, check to check
I need twenty models and some extra sex
Smiling in my grave
Bitch I'm fresh to death
I've been drinking Wu Tang with
Inspectah Deck getting drunk (Skrt)
Yeah, I got some shit that I
Gotta just get off my chest
(Whoa, uh, uh, uh, yeah, damn)
I can admit I got lots on
My list and you next (uh, uh)
Take it how you want it
I ain't famous like I want it
But I think I might just skrrt off
Blow the speakers and turn up
Pop a bottle of Smirnoff
Go to church with my shirt off
Tell the Lord that I'm here now
I've been waiting for so long
I've been patient for so long
Breaking rules like there's no laws
And I did it for a long time
If you don't like me, take a ticket
There's a long line nice to meet me, hoe
I think the pleasure's all mine
Shit, they've been clocking me so long
I think they lost time
Ooh you lost your mind, nigga
Fuck you mean? Whoo! Hol' on
Goddamn it, nigga fuck you mean? Whoo!
And I don't trust a mothafucking soul
What the fuck you mean? Whoo!
Hol' up, whoa whoa whoa whoa
What the fuck you mean? Whoo! (Hol up now)
Look
Don't know what you thinkin'
Compare me to niggas is nothing
(Uh, uh, uh, what, what)
Adrenaline pumping and blood'll be
Leaking and running
(Word, word, yeah, yeah, uh)
Shit, I do what I do
I don't care if you like it or love it
(Nah, nah, uh, uh, Joyner)
Tell all of my bitches I got a new girl, wait
And tell the police that
I'm robbing the bank
And I want all my money in 100s
Bitch, I'm tired of living on the edge
I wanna sell drugs but they
Gon' call the feds
I just bought a brick and that
Shit cost an arm and leg my momma told me
"Take it back and get a job instead"
(Where's your common sense, nigga?)
Me and the devil got too much in common
I swear (Damn, uh, uh, damn, uh)
Born in the ghetto
I never had nothing to fear (nah, nah)
Take it how you want it
I ain't famous like I want it
So, I might just throw a hissy fit
Call up Cassie
Ask her if she broke up with Diddy yet
I said shawty
If she's talking I ain't hitting it
Cause she gon' call her friends up and
Brag about the shit we did
Whoa, I ain't into pillow talking
Go chop off your lips
If I ain't in your top ten
Go dive off a bridge
My block boys got Glock fours
That'll knock off your lid
I doubt you gon' pop off, so hop off my dick
Whoo!
Nigga, fuck you mean? Whoo!
Goddamn it, I said fuck you mean?!
Listen, I don't trust a muthafucking soul
Nigga, no, nigga, fuck you mean?!
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
What the fuck you mean?!
You thought I was finished
You thought it was over?
You thought I retired
You thought I went fishing with Kobe?
Nigga, I'm still as the illest
Considered as one of the coldest
Still-a pull apart in a
Rapper head like Moses, mm-hm
I'm throwback like I'm Motorola
But hoe, I'm cooler than a cup of yogurt
Black flag, Crip boy, truck soldier
I'm cool with drug lords and Ayatollah's
Rap god, cyclops and ogre
Bitch I'm King Kong, ain't nobody told ya?
Fuck you think bro still smoking?
Aww fuck it, I'm Bobby Brown
'bout to go get loaded
Retarded Paul McCartney, bitch I'm rich
I'm Muhammad Ali, I talk shit
I'm James Brown
Bout to tear down this bitch
I'm Michael Jackson
Bitch I'm bad as bad gon' get (oww)
Fuck you mean?
Yo wassup, this is Joyner
I'm unable to take your call right now
Leave me a brief message and
I'll get back to you, peace
Yo, this is the third time this week
That you failed to pick up your son
And I'm just so confused
Like I find it funny that you stay
In the studio laying something down
Slanging mixtapes but you have yet
To bring home diapers
And lay your kid down and go to sleep
On Snapchat talking 'bout
"Where's the plug?"
Like I'm sure he's at National Grid
Tryna cut my lights back on
Like "a dollar and a dream" ass career
And you can't even come home and give
Us a dollar for some fucking milk
I'm not doing this with you, keep it 100
My nigga
Writer(s): ALBERT JOHNSON, GARY MICHAEL LUCAS, MATTHEW JEHU SAMUELS, MICHAEL TYLER
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, RESERVOIR MEDIA MANAGEMENT INC
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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