| Oh, yeah |
| Q-R-N |
| (LC, LC) |
| On the way from school, we made a vow that we gon' blast for each other |
| Call it perfect timing, since a child I spent straight cash for my bezel |
| I wrap my wrist with flawless diamonds, off shippin' packs to the fellas |
| My gangsta bitch the project’s finest, cook the crack in the kettle |
| My heart got broken by that bitch, now I feel like damn I can’t settle |
| Jump in that, how we growed up in the ghetto |
| New Honda four-door filled with sticks, like we don’t fold under pressure |
| Whole sixty days worth Dickie fits until I ran up some cheddar |
| Late night we spent low to the rocks, let’s put the boys on the stretcher |
| I drop a ten right by your yard, we making noise with Berettas |
| Purple Codeine cloudin' my thoughts, like I don’t know no better |
| Two F&Ns, Rocky Balboa, we leave straight smoke in they bedroom |
| Think with my dick more than my brain, that shoulda fucked, plus I ain’t quick |
| to empty clips |
| Like fuck the dealer, cameras in that thang |
| Got all this Codeine in my liver plus my killa might just be my main |
| Right cross the tracks, we up them forties at four niggas for speaking on my |
| name |
| Ran up my guap then watch my people change |
| So many times I question that father like |
| Like why the fuck they got a judge or lil' partner, came from the bottom |
| Life of a thug, call me QPac, young bishop rich and ballin' |
| Twice I done fucked but ain’t no love so I no longer call 'em |
| The opps keep callin' from the phone, we don’t wanna do 'em |
| Ayy, lil' gone, now we gotta make sure these shirts say «Long live» |
| Diamond in the rough, put in my watch, that came from out the projects |
| My pistol tuck, I know they proud even though they ain’t my partner |
| It’s sad enough I ain’t even fuck, fell in love from the convos |
| Here go some billion dollar luck, like wrap this up for Rondo |
| Wonderful feeling from the cups, I’m knockin' at your front door |
| Brick from my 'migo cost a dub, not talking Quavo Huncho |
| On the way from school, we made a vow that we gon' blast for each other |
| Call it perfect timing, since a child I spent straight cash for my bezel |
| I wrap my wrist with flawless diamonds, off shippin' packs to the fellas |
| My gangsta bitch the project’s finest, cook the crack in the kettle |
| My heart got broken by that bitch, now I feel like damn I can’t settle |
| Jump in that, how we growed up in the ghetto |
| New Honda four-door filled with sticks, like we don’t fold under pressure |
| Whole sixty days worth Dickie fits until I ran up some cheddar |
| Late night we spent low to the rocks, let’s put the boys on the stretcher |
| I drop a ten right by your yard, we making noise with Berettas |
| Purple Codeine cloudin' my thoughts, like I don’t know no better |
| Two F&Ns, Rocky Balboa, we leave straight smoke in they bedroom |