letra de post traumatic syndrome - jim jones
[verse: jim jones]
they say my syndrome is post-traumatic
and on them cold nights i sold the coke to addicts
and i tried to play ball, but they can’t coach a savage
when the streets made a call, i had the toast for static
then i froze the patek, i got the grossest habits
in the club i keep spittin’ champagne out, the cleaner said “jim, it’s hard gettin’ the stains out”
i said “f-ck it, i’ll never wear it again”. that’s word on my mama, you’ll never hear this again
now a n-gga livin’, you see my lear in the wind
i tell them n-ggas stop it, you can’t compare them to jim
i hop out the c-ckpit, smellin’ like a champ
we made somе extra points, we was sellin’ that work damp
you could tеll from the stamp, we was getting them blocks and i
whipped my car southpaw like a n-gga was boxin’, i
get em on options. i give a f-ck if the b-tch through hoppin’
i tell em “baby, i’m poppin'”
white people doing researches on, same blocks that the cops used to do searches on
i pump bass like this beat that i put a verse on, uh
and we never met bumpy johnson, but i know some n-ggas that used to pump in johnson
riding shotta used to pop out with the pump like bronson, i’m gone…
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