Paid In Full Anthem Pt. 1

pado6762640

歌词

作品

Oh, I ain't wanna go hard on you. Marcus made me do it. He said your money's long, dog.

He said we making the paper. You got the hardest of the hardest. You got to do it, man. You

haters made me do this. I didn't wanna have to. You brought me out my cocoon. Love, I

know you tricks is mad. Eyes bloodshot red. I know it's hard to believe. Look at them

dudes over there. Whose money is longer? Army is stronger. Your gal talking bout us cause

her dicks is longer. Man, you used to have the squad, and now we creeping up. You trying

to figure out why the game got so mixed up. Well, I told you, man, cause I plotted long

term. You party got exed and wet, got caught on shirt. I planned my arrival, and I kept

quiet. Now the time has come. I can no longer be silent. We came to mess the industry up,

toss executives up, and them sluts, man, we came to stack nothing but binges. I've allowed

you to diss. Put your own shit list. Now pay them fools the number one Texas label, bitch.

2003 until the century turns, we gonna take over the world. This thing you must learn.

And a one, and a two, and a three, nobody. Who fucking with us in this motherfucker?

Nobody. Now let me hear you, homie. What in the fuck did you think? You know you had to hear from me.

They be like, ooh, that nigga too cocky. Yeah, yeah. Fuck you. Now who the fuck gonna stop me?

Think about it. I got Paul. I got Cooper. I got 50. I got Mac. I got Kat. My nobody niggas with me.

I'm a painful soldier. Man, nigga, hold up. I'm riding, blowing big with some drank in my soda.

Now how the why they dialing 911? Probably cause I brought a 9 to a 101 and my gun don't um.

How can I get my point across? Let me see. Nah, fuck it, I just aiming point across. Who want it with us?

Do me a favor, stand up. But if you got love for us, nigga, put your hands up.

Who run this bitch? Type 4, motherfucker. Who run this bitch? Type 4, motherfucker.

I ain't no industry dude. I'm an industry dude. So at the Source Awards, look for me to be rude.

And every track I'm on, look for me to be true. If you ain't real, look for me to see through you.

Look for me to fuck the major label man, main boo. Look for me to not love rap five years and I'm through.

I sell you my thoughts, yet still I'm a mystical. Chest out, head high, I got really big testicles.

I'm the gutter of the label, I keep dirt on me, baby. Every line, 7 -Eleven, don't hurry and fade me.

Hurt the feelings of my competitor, you better get better, bruh. Keep heat, heavy metal stuff, et cetera, et cetera.

You cats must be snorting lines before you writing lines. Amped up off a song that's gonna bring your career down.

You BFI garbage, what the hell is your motive? You and your clicks sound sloppy, what the hell in your soul?

Plenty hoes to be counting down. Plenty dough, my accountant trying to get paid.

So be counting mine. Row and twin, count the guns and bullets.

Paul and Hatter, they be counting fine. But Cat skips numbers, cause after the four, he gon' climb to nine.

And go ride to the 45, hop up to the 380. So he crazy, if he wanna count numbers with we, baby.

Switch subjects, the chicks love it, and plus the little kids love it.

My click is the click, plus it's no click, they can sit above it, let me spell it.

Does it have my click? Does it like transferring students? We make slow niggas switch subjects.

If you got words towards my label, I hope it's not in your rhymes. We some good spell checkers, I bet you'll correct your lines.

Proofread it for my crew, see it, niggas don't want no pets.

Slap your man with the SoundScan, and then scream, who's next?

Get your mind correct, one of the best cassettes to enter a deck.

We treat niggas like royalty payments, yep, put them in check.

Who run this bitch? Titanfall, motherfucker!