old thing back pt. 2

don q

where you at?

what it do

these rap niggas is wack

i want that old thing back

yeah

i want that old thing back

you now see

my style mean

i ain't into you

seeing murders

fucked up my child's dreams

got caught sleeping

nigga

i ain't on a xanny

crack come in

like candy

cold in new york

got miami on the bench

brandy

and her best friend

tammy

tryna get me

run through that money

treat that shit like a marathon

quit it with the happy talk

treat my luggage like a cary-on

hit the club with my carots on

make these hoes wanna come along

you ain't gotta act

it's real if i have it on

you be shitten on them with that x53

we had it in the streets

pull up with this keef

i switch a check on the piece

nigga

i never sleep

30

000 for the lui

never take a receipt

i'm a real broncks nigga

west side to be exact

we ain't at the party

bring the party to where we at

imma pull up to the scene

in the rari

with the strap

smoken in the car

with a barby in the back

no shit

before rap

it was sell chips

on that road shit

til a nigga homesick

remember back

i was in the trap

with the stove lit

sellin crack to a feend

so i could get my shit

santana

get back to the bandana

these rap niggas is wack

i want that old thing back

i want that old thing back

i want that old thing back

santana

bandana

back on tl

too much sauce

too much swagger

might spill

too much talk

the hawk

the mac might drill

big white bens

looking like crack on weals

all this ice on

i got chills

all these things got me flexin on them

now i know how poppop feels

getting to the chicken

like a popeyes meal

connected everywhere

like i got a wifi deal

gotta watch them niggas that's close to you

they the same ones riding in the ghost with you

hating on the low

htinking about ghosting you

same ones that smoke with you

choke with you

boy

i came to bring the pain

put niggas to shame

the whole planet gonna remember my name

it's all for respect

not fame

don't play with me

give them rope

they still can't hang with me

pass the baton

they still can't race with me

so far ahead of these niggas

they still chacing me

i wouldn't be surprised if niggas ghost writers got ghost writers

nothing seeses to amaze me

ladies used to care

even though they was raping me

now it's 360 deals

modern day slavery

fuck you paying me

i'm the one recording

won't settle for extortion

or fame over forchin

game done changed

sound done changed

all these niggas sound the same

the word loyalty don't even sound the same

good thing that when i keep the pound

it bang

and it always sound the same

time to ame at the game

pure shower

mane

neck full of water

lke i drowned my chain

flyer than a nigga jumping out a plain

higher than you niggas

you can't find the strain

better than you niggas

that's without saying

the money like the work

we don't count

we weigh

cause now we aming

blazing

flaming

gun big as a showerhead

you don't want me spraying

enough with the mumbo jumbo

santana back though

can i get a drum roll

whole lot of cush

and it's stuffed in the front hole

feends still say my work tastes like gumbo

yeah

bring that old thing back

i was tought to wip it up

and bring that whole thing back

when i was pumping coke

you was jumping rope

i was running out of bags

you was playing tag

while you was hop scotching

i was drop shopping

at the dealer

paying cash for them pink tags

while you was pop locking

i was gloc popping

getting to the cash

brown paper bags

blowing money fast

it'd never last

make it fast

then make it back

haters gonna suffer

i'm ok with that

all this garbage

time to throgh away the trash