a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

1982 - too long lyrics

[hook: ea$y money] (x2)
i done waited too long, now it’s straight to the top
been holding my breath for too long
gotta make it to heaven, i done been through h-ll
been holding this stress for too long

[verse 1]
i sleep two hour increments, flee from deadly incidents
me and my clique we sip and dabble in the bricks
my life was undecided, divided by guns and violence
and sirens, i know i’m high and i’m flying, but who’s the pilot?
n0body home in his dome, i’m all alone in this zone
i’m finna make it all alone with these poems
you know, i’m like a lost prophet, and not to get off-topic
but i got enough skeletons to fill a large closet
i ain’t a goon or a k!ller or a murderer
but i k!ll beats, and rappers i always murder them
my perspective on collecting money from reckless methods
is get a check but check for detectives in the sketchy lexus
trying to arrest and check us for weapons and lead dispensers
but they stay rocking vest protectors or get sent to the essence
i write my rhymes with a complex-ness
so my content is fresh, cuz it’s senseless to waste a bar or sentence

[verse 2]
on my way to heaven. every time i grab the ladder
it shatters, collapses to ashes and p-sses with the traffic
i stay sipping them plastic cups ’til that liquor hit me
serving white to them biddies, lotta whitneys and britneys
i creep throughout the city, sneaking a hammer with me
in the truck, getting drunk, ain’t need it, but it was with me
if i needed it, i was ready to squeeze it and just plead the fifth
but i got two seeds to miss, and that loyalty’s a b-tch
i love my freedom too much to give the key up
to a piece of sh-t that make me fill up a pee cup
and the re-up was so fire i would erupt
turn the block molten lava the way it heat up
i’m on my way to heaven, but i can’t escape the devil
and the ghetto girls putting dna inside a jello
i changed my mental from making chips in the rental
and staying bent to making cheddar off rhyming and instrumentals

[verse 3]
third grade, couldn’t go to school for a whole week
pop dukes beat me down, left marks on my cheek
they want to call the police, but me, i let it go
i told them no, i love my pops, i let it show
my crib got shot up the first time when i was eight
should have seen my face, i knew trouble was on the way
and my aunt was a prost-tute, hooking every day
crazy pimps looked me in my eye and showed me the way
“punch a b-tch in the eye, only way she gonna pay
leave a st-tch, break a bone, only way she gonna stay.”
this my real life, y’all rappers be making sh-t up
my babysitter smoked mad crack and stayed lit up
eyes all bugged out, pupils like black pennies
crackhead step-mama–shout out to jenny
and not to put my business all in my written sh-t
but this really is my real life, so i can spit the sh-t

- 1982 lyrics

Random Lyrics

HOT LYRICS