Major League
Major League

Kevin Gates - Major League Lyrics

2

Major League Lyrics

Well, one of these ol' pussy-ass
Niggas do what y'all salute
(yeah, yeah, yeah)
Bitch-ass niggas know they actin' cap 
(yeah, yeah, yeah) "Luca Brasi"

On the road,  back to back for shows
And I ain't get a cent off that (At all)
Back to cookin' fish, smell like a brick
I got that scent off that (On God)
Closed doors
Ones closest hurtin' your emotions (Huh?)
Then get 'round
They fake supporters and play
Perfect on the socials (Hm-m)
I can't go along to get a long
I'm a big soldier (Easy)
Killa Stone reincarnatin', all Magnolia
That other nigga, we are not the same
Fall back homie (Bitch)
I am downtown, 9th ward, Baton Rouge
Big dawg
E Wayne, K Wayne, B Wayne, gettin' off (Woo)
Meditate, Seroquel, Elavil, sick cough (Roof)
New buildin', violated
Got shipped, ten songs
I done been up-state with niggas afraid
To walk the big yard
Bad karma come to those who cross me
Bust the beef here (Boom, boom)
70805, I pull up, hop off
Got some street cred'
Lil' one snuck me, he dead, that other nigga
He dead
I'm major league swingin' this big bitch
You know how we play it copied all my tats
He actin' like he put in work for this
(yeah)
You ain't work the trench, you pussy bitch
You rode a bunch of dicks
Heal with that retinol, yeah
Four niggas in folders, yeah
Lord's got a name for it
Don't know what to call it yet
Gunner, ward mighty, Breadwinner, John Gotti
(Wah) king Ox hit the fed, cut his dreads
Kept it solid (Wah)
Tell Lil Hank, that's my gangster
Jonathan like John Stockton
Know if I go back
I could lay back 'cause I know that he got me

I get John Wheeler
All of his responses gon' be copied (Gone)
Pretty bitch, big booty, Texas, she responded
(What up?) eat that dick up on command
Meanin' she in correspondence pretty feet
I nibble on her cheeks when
We at my apartment (Oh)
All up in her arteries
I slang that dick in high performance
Real drug lord fresh
Kevin dress designer garments

Really did it from the corner
Graduated to a trap spot
You knew 'bout Gates, 2008
You call that bitch the Match Box
Safety pin and nitro digit scales
I'm moving crack out
Lil' bitch off Tennessee in here with me
I blew her back out
My partner tellin' me the game foul
I should back out
My same partner left me in a
Gown with my back out
Rappers got around me, my stories
They re-enact out
Real big speakers, you ain't did no time
It just don't add out
Vroom, Urus wide body kit
I whip the Lamb' out
Talked about by pussy niggas who
Indigent with they hand out
Heroin and syringes, real militant
It should tan out
First niggas said they stand
On nation business, i'm official
Feelin' like Demar Derozan, got looked over
Turned me vicious
They salute the fakes, say, "Fuck the real
" I wonder what I did 'em
I got plenty pretty women whom
I won't give no commitment
Steppin' on these niggas
Fell in love with my new mission
I know music cool
But I know sellin' drugs would get me richer
With the shit of life sentence come
With this and I'm convicted

Damn, we done run out of beat

Writer(s): Charles Forsberg, Kevin Gilyard
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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