Bossed Up

Lyrics

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

Audio Features

Song Details

Duration
03:42
Key
5
Tempo
79 BPM

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