Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Youngworldibi
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Youngworldibi
Songwriter
Wilbert Robinson
Composer
Lyrics
This rap shit just so in me
No fear of any
You bought many
They dying out so bring the Henny
That's the shit you pouring out
When I put em down
Whole team treat like a whore bag
Dog em out
It's ya boy going ape shit on these cock suckers
Have a blast
Watch em melt like a stick of butter
Coming fresh off the frying pan
Ya frying man
Off the charts
Fuck up a diagram diaphragm
No torso ripped limbs
Left in the crossroads
Strong arsenal
Black market buying out bomb codes
Presidential take notes
Boy pull out ya pencil
And start writing this intellectual
You see credentials
The tree of the truth think of a papi seed
Everything growing
You seeking knowledge then copy me
Most likely can't be done
Step on you bugs
Show em no love
Man you is ass nigga ya butt
And all my dogs on this ride wit me
Flow infinitely
Flow sickly give sermons
The pope in me
Excuse my thoughts the truth man
I really do this man
On kids ass like school pants
Yeah putting out
These guys like a cigarette
And all they girls surfing em
Aint talking about the internet
No laying dirt dig em all out
Simply dick a whore down
This a one man whore house
Man I'm hot on yall ass lose denims
Thing pressed to the side
Hole where that hoop in em
Boot kick em
Thing hit em dead center
Aint a killer
You fuck wit mine you gonna play victim
Turn away from my sins man
My momma told me
Didn't listen
Young nothing can hold me
Man was I dead wrong
Man so dead wrong
Nailed me under the jail
Weather the storm
Was a hella storm
Got that music for the soul
Coming from the bottom
And when ya hungry gotta go
To fail is not a option
Pops said
Keep going and there ain't no stopping
So knock em dead
Use they wigs to mop wit
Out here getting it
Money pile ya get to flipping it
Just getting by man I'm sick of it
Living proof
Kill the game till the wrist is lit
On to bigger things
Want the plaques on the wall y'all feel this shit
Yeah now that I'm out
Tunes I rock hard
Rock star
Ride wit my guys moon a cop car
How I'm feeling
Man fuck them pigs
Order em dead
Put em under a bridge ya dig
Just let em smell a dirty caucus
Ya begging me to stop it
Stick it up a hostage
Ya boy ain't on no cop shit
Ones higher up scum of the earth
And i mean that
Just politically speaking
Them pigs don't wanna hear that
But forget that
Do my thing anyway
Bread putting away
Preparing for a rainy day
Getting that cake
Cuz baby I'm a heavyweight
All I see in my dreams
Like broads make a bed shake
Gun slinger like Tom Brady
A hall of famer
Yall dogs transform from a pawn maybe
If I let ya
Don't bother with a lecture
Press it and we wet ya
Leave you on that wet shit
That's dead
And not them drugs that you on
Heavily armed
If you ever play me pussy you gone
Hands clean I'm the holy preacher
Don't need to hold the heater
My goons will hold the heater
It sound like a broken speaker
That's the silencer
Bow down pay homage yall
Looking at the greatest
Got pain get some Tylenol
Or that ibuprofen
Stronger kick dopamine
Don't go for free
Now I got em hooked dope fiends
On ya block man I'm so soaring
Pulling out double doubles
It's like I'm pitching out of four corners
That's why these chicks
They all on me
All horny
And if she bad clean
Snow blowing her all morning
I'm the shit
Just ask see what your wifey think
I could put you on
Have you dreaming all types of shit
Like swimming a sea of pussy
All tushy
But don't you push me
I'm brick hard ya soft cookie
And I don't plan on stopping either
So need this
On my life
Give my right hand to that man Jesus
Have no fear
I'm here to stay
And here for good
Wish a fella would
Put em under water
I really would
Have em swimming with sea sharks
Them great whites
Their rise
Gone like the fumes off of a tailpipe
Damn hooptie
Got heart try and shoot me
The boy a groupie
Say I ain't hot
You niggas loony
Got that music for the soul
Coming from the bottom
And when ya hungry gotta go
To fail is not a option
Pops said
Keep going and there ain't no stopping
So knock em dead
Use they wigs to mop wit
Out here getting it
Money pile ya get to flipping it
Just getting by man I'm sick of it
Living proof
Kill the game till the wrist is lit
On to bigger things
Want the plaques on the wall y'all feel this shit
Writer(s): Wilbert Robinson
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