Armoire (feat. Young Roddy & Trademark)

歌詞

For Cuban linx Yellow gold, January cold, my mink I'm from the the school of old, check out my ring I won a super bowl of hash, I saw the Mona Lisa blink Not falling off my ass Cause I lean like the Tower of Pisa on stained glass At the church, funeral services for this beat Niggas tryna steal my style, I can hear 'em in my sleep Like young thieves outside tryna break in your Z 28 or your Double S, they hit your Trans-Am For your big nose hood and you know them fools man And I swear that ain't no good, but I'm not surprised Cause it's all fair in the game Of fucking these bitches due to your street fame This shit's wicked, deserves a documentary Deadstocks on my feet, I'm walking ancient history Niggas is beast hype, tryna be like what we write Ain't nothing but that Jet Life I'm talking stacks in the walls, floors, ceilings A house made of money, feel what I'm building (Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) (Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) I'm talking pounds in the fridge, hundred stack in the armoire Constant reminders of what the fuck we grind for (Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) (Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) Still at it, Jet Set mathematics I'm, from the city of choppers clappers and levee crackage All levels completed, bitch I'm All-Madden Smoking out the E-Class wagon It's just that "to the airport" action, I am more Mr. 2 Door Still running triple O game on my new hoes More than one time was I told that I was too cold Gucci Mane, tryna be grizzly burr on these hoes Foundation laid, and from that, a mansion rose When my driver bring yo bitches home, ask her how that Caddy roll You can tell that she was with daddy, just smell her clothes Money and smoke, that's all I know I'm talking stacks in the walls, floors, ceilings A house made of money, feel what I'm building (Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) (Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) I'm talking pounds in the fridge, hundred stack in the armoire Constant reminders of what the fuck we grind for (Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) (Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing)