Lyrics to Roland Bishop
Where we at with it, ay?
It's the Jack Lord, I'ma smack the glass off the backboard
At the office with it, quick the chalk and then turn the niggas slap to a blackboard
Everything meant like a out tour, on the hill block me and Fatboy
10, 20 pints of the Atkin, in the trap me and Dan Aykroyd
Street life what I been living, gangland get them bricks missing
Boss hog got a pig pen, run with hitmen so it hit different
Hundred million on the come up
Niggas know I pull this gun up
Nigga no guts, no glory, stretch 220 in to 440
In jail they ask me if I'm no court, nah I ain't in the trade war story
My clothes tight when I got picked up, spent the whole night hoodie zipped up
Back on the dike with my stick tucked, rolling white like a lint brush
Mama pray for me 'cause I been tucked, know they waiting on me to slip up
Nigga can't afford another hiccup, moral of the story keep your lips shut
Nice foreign exchange with the gang, bouncing out with my wrist
Nigga still dropping dirty except this time it's not a piss cup
I sold drugs to feed my peoples and I party and dangle
Then I took some of the proceeds and I started a label
Soul of a thug, blood of a creature, the heart of a gangster
Pulling my clutch I never needed no guardian angel
In the heart of the mantra
Double-parked in that Maybach
Still ain't talking to strangers, new AR with the laser
Bitch, quit calling me "crazy"
Streets ran a fax check, OG gave me y'all access
That's the half brick shit, we a mixed nigga down, add him to the track list
I'm a wordsmith, fact of the words is, thank you for your proof of purchase
Yeah that pussy good for a minute but the money only thing a nigga want
Me and my niggas we the real deal, we want all the pills still
Benz trunk full of green pints on the east side, me and Trio Beal
I'm a workhorse, no horseplay, playing with the work is my forte
White horse walking on water, they say Jesus rose on the fourth day
Now it's all praise due, all white ice in my hazel
Black 'lenciaga space boot, stumping foreign pedals when we race coupe
Cheated death with a ace dupe, most niggas in the ghetto can't shoot
Aided my Canadian draft, turned a cream soda to a grape juice
Fuck trying to send a B-pack, give me 32 for the whole thing
30 blues for the jean jacket, Virgil Lewis with the rope strings
Courtesy of the neighborhood club, Landley and bricks on me
They call me "crazy" so much, my mind playing tricks on me
I sold drugs to feed my peoples and I party and dangle
Then I took some of the proceeds and I started a label
Soul of a thug, blood of a creature, the heart of a gangster
Pulling my clutch I never needed no guardian angel
In the heart of the mantra
Double-parked in that Maybach
Still ain't talking to strangers, new AR with the legs
Bitch quit calling me crazy
Bitch quit calling me crazy
Bitch quit calling me crazy
Bitch quit calling me crazy
Bitch quit calling me crazy
It's the Jack Lord, I'ma smack the glass off the backboard
At the office with it, quick the chalk and then turn the niggas slap to a blackboard
Everything meant like a out tour, on the hill block me and Fatboy
10, 20 pints of the Atkin, in the trap me and Dan Aykroyd
Street life what I been living, gangland get them bricks missing
Boss hog got a pig pen, run with hitmen so it hit different
Hundred million on the come up
Niggas know I pull this gun up
Nigga no guts, no glory, stretch 220 in to 440
In jail they ask me if I'm no court, nah I ain't in the trade war story
My clothes tight when I got picked up, spent the whole night hoodie zipped up
Back on the dike with my stick tucked, rolling white like a lint brush
Mama pray for me 'cause I been tucked, know they waiting on me to slip up
Nigga can't afford another hiccup, moral of the story keep your lips shut
Nice foreign exchange with the gang, bouncing out with my wrist
Nigga still dropping dirty except this time it's not a piss cup
I sold drugs to feed my peoples and I party and dangle
Then I took some of the proceeds and I started a label
Soul of a thug, blood of a creature, the heart of a gangster
Pulling my clutch I never needed no guardian angel
In the heart of the mantra
Double-parked in that Maybach
Still ain't talking to strangers, new AR with the laser
Bitch, quit calling me "crazy"
Streets ran a fax check, OG gave me y'all access
That's the half brick shit, we a mixed nigga down, add him to the track list
I'm a wordsmith, fact of the words is, thank you for your proof of purchase
Yeah that pussy good for a minute but the money only thing a nigga want
Me and my niggas we the real deal, we want all the pills still
Benz trunk full of green pints on the east side, me and Trio Beal
I'm a workhorse, no horseplay, playing with the work is my forte
White horse walking on water, they say Jesus rose on the fourth day
Now it's all praise due, all white ice in my hazel
Black 'lenciaga space boot, stumping foreign pedals when we race coupe
Cheated death with a ace dupe, most niggas in the ghetto can't shoot
Aided my Canadian draft, turned a cream soda to a grape juice
Fuck trying to send a B-pack, give me 32 for the whole thing
30 blues for the jean jacket, Virgil Lewis with the rope strings
Courtesy of the neighborhood club, Landley and bricks on me
They call me "crazy" so much, my mind playing tricks on me
I sold drugs to feed my peoples and I party and dangle
Then I took some of the proceeds and I started a label
Soul of a thug, blood of a creature, the heart of a gangster
Pulling my clutch I never needed no guardian angel
In the heart of the mantra
Double-parked in that Maybach
Still ain't talking to strangers, new AR with the legs
Bitch quit calling me crazy
Bitch quit calling me crazy
Bitch quit calling me crazy
Bitch quit calling me crazy
Bitch quit calling me crazy
