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boola - starting 5 lyrics

[verse 1: boola]
first off, i’m clean, no need to wipe the dirt off
alexander mcqueen, scarf out of bergdorf
xo the drink, cashmere under the mink
soon as you blink you lose your ho from just a wink
who the link? bink, b-tch, what you think?
minus the ink, yeah, my sh-t talk and stink
don’t you smell the stench? new money got a scent
offspring of a pimp, you can see it in my limp
not in this to quit, i decide to go the length
my defense is my strength, for the money, n-ggas throw in the monkey wrench
like i give a f-ck, pardon my french
i don’t want to hear sh-t unless you offering chips
pardon my chain, pardon my wrist, pardon the 6
took a mile but i started with an inch
blew a stack on your b-tch and i didn’t even flinch
mvp of this sh-t and i started on the bench

[verse 2: maffew ragazino]
started on the bench like kobe on the lakers
mark cuban of the franchise i play for
laughing to the bank, n-ggas skipping like rafer
grateful of god’s grace, d-mn, i could have been a pacer
a lot of n-ggas went home without the chip
close but no cigar, blame the gentleman on my kicks
knees full of fluid like ewing, patrick
commentating on how i ball like stephen a. smith
humble n-gga low key like a young fritz
he enter with a broad but i left with that same b-tch
let that girl choose, i’m the chosen one
guess i’m one lucky motherf-cker like i’m oprah’s son
and a lefty too, foamposites pepsi blue
polo’d out like timeless truth
purple label designer suits
handkerchief in the pocket, that’s how mobsters do

[verse 3: mickey factz]
factz! ortiz and dubb jeans
broads holding doors open before the car leave
j-panese kicks had to pay mad paper
just to pr-nounce them you probably need a translator
hot flow-er, phone calls with stockbrokers
new benz, i call it the droptop yoga
my car is sick, it’s got glaucoma
we playing dice on a jet, i’m a high roller
catch my man boola with the paint boy
jolie redd look-a-likes down at st. croix
make noise because i’m what you call realer
meetings at the moment with a private art dealer
acres of plants out in asia, stay in j-pan
waving at fans on the plane while i’m waiting to land
paint in my hand, it’s the new warhol
it’s uncalled for, your man is an all-star

[verse 4: reek da villian]
down in the grill, sandals and shorts, gun in my linen
final leaf lit, play in the sand with a couple of women
i call that macking on the beaches with the b-tches
tomorrow it’s to brazil then costa rica for the weekend
these n-ggas talking that money they never see
rapping about all them locations that they never be
i save the m’s but i’m throwing out every d
and mount vernon b-tches know me for slinging heavy d
i’m strung out, this frontrunner
i sound like jay and nas back in ’98 summer
y’all n-ggas all fancy, i’m a ’98 hummer
come through and turn you range rovers into roadrunners, who the f-ck want it?
touch nothing, i just poly the deals
send the connect to my youngins pop a molly and chill
big bank, large cake, liquid dollars are mils
safe so heavy to move it need a dolly with wheels

[verse 5: jon connor]
let’s clear all the confusion, look at all that i’m doing
best in the world, don’t need a pencil to draw that conclusion
to the ones that don’t like me, i give you thunder and lightning
rain on your parade, i keep the rap game exciting
here i am in the flesh, self proclaimed i’m the best
you can’t fathom my love, my heart is as big as my chest
i’m the sh-t right now, why they keep saying i’m next?
fly, i’m jetting past you n-ggas, that’s a shoutout to plax
i’d rather you hate me for being real, than love me for being fake
run laps around rap n-ggas on tracks it keep me in shape
hard body colossus every time that i drop sh-t
son you n-ggas, adoption, slowing down’s not an option
y’all see me shining, blind everybody that’s watchin
i want the world like i’m telling god to spoil me rotten
i ain’t happy til my compet-tion gone and forgotten
punch lines every time, check to see if they conscious
connor!

- boola lyrics

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