Bossed Up (Feat. Trademark Da Skydiver, Young Roddy & Smoke DZA)

Текст песни Jet Life - Bossed Up (Feat. Trademark Da Skydiver, Young Roddy & Smoke DZA)

Real niggas coming up, fake niggas laying down
Trademark I'm here to stay, guaranteed you'll see me 'round
Stuntin' in some sharp apparrel, khaki slacks, I'm laxed and casual
With a focused mind, I'm on a straight of narrow
I just want what's mines, that's only natural
Large estates, cherry wood floors with marble statues
I see it in my dreams, so I know it's coming for me
Niggas tryna block my shine, trust me I ain't worried
Back against the wall, I'm yelling, "fuck 'em all"
I came here to ball, right hand on my balls
Left hand middle fingers up cuz I don't give a fuck
You can tell from my attitude I'm getting bucks
Strong kush in the cones got a nigga stuck
I'm headed to the top, momma wish me luck
Haters wish I fail, even though I will prevail
That's just how I feel, but only time will surely tell

Uh, It's a real nigga outing
So I'mma wear what I wanna wear, Right
Hustlin', I'm mad where I'm at dawg
Bitches call me when the money there
I pull up, pick up, now grip up
Uhhh, and if you hustlin'
Put your bands up, bands up
And all my real G's stand up and what? Riiight

And I hotbox the whip, I make it hard for her to breathe
My pound game official, make a brother won't leave
Got bags under my eyes from no sleep
Got cash under my bed from '03, one love to my plug
That nigga put me on my feet, it's still fuck them niggas
Tell 'em I'm rolling one deep, I ain't scared fool, whats beef?
To a cattle who lost his peeps, us ghetto kids
Keep more than a trick up our sleeve, I ain't doing that just for me
This for my sisters and my C's
Or men thats in these streets like A-wax, I ride D's
I pray they keep their face on, my niggas with disbelief
No disrespect girl, but til I'm gone it's M.O.B
That chopper on that front seat like fuck it, its M-O-me
I got it out that modern Nike shoes, now no cleats
They label me a beast, "you better than me?" "nigga, please."
A rebel 'til I leave, and 'til I leave, its J-E-T, oouutt

Uh, It's a real nigga outing
So I'mma wear what I wanna wear, Right
Hustlin', I'm mad where I'm at dawg
Bitches call me when the money there
I pull up, pick up, now grip up
Uhhh, and if you hustlin'
Put your bands up, bands up
And all my real G's stand up and what? Riiight

Riiiiight, two years ago I was chopping O's
Now I get pound money to rock a show, the OG's like "little pappa go"
Fly to H-town just to hip hop a dose, oh, I'm too popular to be normal
Die off that OG every night, fool, I'm immortal
One time for my little bro, little doobies
Just a few months and I smoke, and everything will be gucci
Kushed God, you looking at a new breed
My N.O. niggas will kill for me like I'm Drew Breeze
Hustler, slash, author, see that a rotten apple just another dirty New Yorker
Show stopper, hoes jock him, think he's awesome, go rock 'em
Big Cuban looking flawless, so tell them non-believers they can hold my Johnson
King of New York, nigga, Rugby Thompson