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letra de blue sky - jag

[verse 1: chubby jag]
aye look, can you help me find my way back
i don’t know where i’m going now
and on this sh-t we blowing down, all this henne going ’round
all my n-ggas with me turn, got the hottest show in town
feel like homecoming the how, (we got it going down)
i’m like, why tell ’em n-ggas, n-ggas knew your odds
but i guess snitching is a gig, you gotta do your job
i keep my talking short, yep i stay on my laundry
i was born by my self, i can’t wait on my homies
you got your last hundred, you just opened last shoe
running out of options home, all your bills past due
got that funny feeling when you see the ‘cedes p-ss you
all that money got you going nuts so, cashew
i got my army on standby, wait for the captain
funny how i happen to make it to making it happen
i ain’t fall off, i chose to stay to the rapping
it’s like if you a gun to shoot, just stay to the clapping

i got enough cake, chilling in my plus place
but you get out of line, i’ll gladly get the duck tape

remember when them hoes used to hit me with that stuck face
act like she don’t know me, now they hit me with that f-ck face
and i’m like, i know why you on it now girl
but i’m all about my money, i don’t want it now girl
you really need it, i hear they (??)
and that plane -ss chain, i got stones in it now girl
that’s reality, i’ve been in my fiction bag
got my girl switching bags, got a n-gga switching jags
we used to be up in the mall, n-ggas clipping tags
now i’m in that b-tch with cash, hating n-ggas getting mad
cash here, getting glad, cash going always do it
cash rules (everything around me), yeah i always knew it
i’m the nacho man, the moola to guapo man
for that cheese i say, ew, yeah, macho man
n-ggas used to move the cream, the gelato man
my sh-t red, make you dipsets like vado man
i’m too reckless, got the angel on my chest
like a new necklace, i swear i’m too precious
i’m protected like i’ve been walking with two vests
and i keep an l on me like a new lexus
i blow it down, you know me my ‘piff official
i shoot my gats, you here me i grip the pistol
my clique official, you hear me, we pitching packs
i’m watching the chicken stack, the bomb, i’m mr. missile
i’m kinda stoned off the e, and i’m kinda on
i make you feel like a kid, girl is your momma home
eyes raised right, i ain’t bringing that drama home
and the same breathe eyes bringing that llama home
eyes on the k!ll everything, sh-t osama on
moving white, out the white house, sh-t obama on
chubby remember getting stoned off the dime b
watching reruns soul train and don c
d-mn, sad we had to lose another great
that sh-t right there is forcing me to do another take
it ain’t no place like home, it ain’t another place
by cali i mean that i can’t name another state
i got my weight up, yeah i’m talking p-90
you don’t want it with my little goon (??)
yellow stones in the brightening, cause he shiny
in the club with the lights off, and she fine
we don’t add up holmes, it can’t be calculated
i just bust on this track holmes, ej-cul-ted
n-ggas used to sit in buses, now we sit in coupes
door lift to the sky, but it’s missing roofs
we running this sh-t n-gga, you running
they owe me like (??)

- jag

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