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rj lamont - the world is yours (intro) lyrics

[intro]
(rj lamont got these motherf+ckin’ streets talkin’)
(ooh, rj)
yeah

[verse 1]
d+mn, mark, where you’ve been? sh+t, juggin’ on that road
my b+tch claim i be embarrassing and doin’ her so wrong (d+mn)
why? ’cause i f+cked that n+gga b+tch and put it in a song
broke n+gga shouldn’t have been talkin’ like i couldn’t hit his ho (broke n+gga)
sorry, baby, i know i got loyal p+ssy still at home
let her hold my oven for me, she’ll cook you n+ggas slow
gucci hoodie when it’s cold, we’ll put you n+ggas on
punchin’ this, punchin’ that, i’m like a bully in these stores
you a rookie, i’m a pro, yeah, b+tch, go get your manager (f+ck on)
say she wanna f+ck me, hold up, let me check my calendar
all these b+tches y’all n+ggas think bad, to me, they regular
she just want a real n+gga with bands, and i’m not mad at her (ayy)
sticked up like a janitor, lil’ n+gga, f+ck you sayin’?
sh+t got real, huddle with my n+ggas like what’s the plan? (let’s get it)
ayy, f+ck them n+ggas, run up them bands
when it’s time, we gon’ leave them n+ggas where the f+ck they stayin’

[chorus]
ayy, run it up, n+gga, we gon’ get this sh+t
we gon’ split this sh+t, even if it’s fifty cent
you a silly b+tch, why you tryna cuff knowin’ brodie f+cked?
thinkin’ i ain’t hip, but i’m gon’ play my role, i know what’s up (ha)
cheat money, snuck the toolie in, f+ck what crew he in
up that b+tch on the first n+gga think he superman
ayy, slide for this ‘fit, and i got pole on me
worry for a week, but it don’t matter ’cause that roll on me (ayy)
[verse 2]
good slide, told my b+tch the sh+t, made my b+tch the sh+t
i wouldn’t hit your b+tch, she’s too broke, this that expensive d+ck (yeah)
r.i.p. jeff, ballin’ heaven roof, we gon’ meet again
still rollin’, got it out the mud like a guinea pig
in the foreign with a lightskin and her conceited friend
same night, knock ’em both down, never speak again
p+ssy n+gga hatin’ on the gang, never seen a million
playin’ roles, take his top off like we deal wigs
yeah, f+ck every n+gga we don’t eat with (f+ck ’em)
all these n+ggas fake, they all hate, they all sneak diss (ayy)
pillow talk, talk down on they mans to a freak b+tch (lame)
when i’m the n+gga kept this sh+t a thousand on some g sh+t (ayy)
merry christmas, feelin’ like it’s christmas ’cause that tree lit
mama mad i’m at the family function with that weed scent
plus the 40 pokin’, she don’t know this just for defense
team man put that b+tch out in the cold, know she gon’ be sick, ayy

- rj lamont lyrics

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