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letra de who got ya - nems

[intro]
uh, uh
yeah
turn this sh-t the f-ck up
uh, yeah
yo, y’all b-tches sittin’ over there, turn the f-ck up
ya didn’t hear me? turn my sh-t the f-ck up
walk right in the booth with the headphones on, n-gg-, uh

[verse]
who got ya?
these bars’ll knock ya cheek to the oppo-
site side of ya face, collide with the b-ss, then its on, n-gg-
f-ck all that sh-t you been listenin’ to (f-ck it)
i been nice since g funk was comin’ to see me in that visitin’ room (facts)
look at all the sh-t that i give to you
and i expect nothin’ in return
i’ll body you, f-ck ya b-tch, then nut inside ya urn (p-ssy)
n-body gave me nothin’, homie, this is what i earn
now i can wait my turn
or i can f-ck the whole industry with my words
raw dog like usher and let it burn (burn, burn)
but i chose to take the art in my hands
’cause waitin’ for a record deal was never part of the plan
started writin’ bars for the ’gram
’cause in my mind i knew none of these rappers stood a chance to spar wit’ ya man
fam, i ain’t get no advance
i ain’t get no money put inside my hands
i did it for the fans
i did it so you could understand
now when you put me next to any rapper i’m way advanced
who got ya?
now i see my sons copying my blueprint
boogie boardin’ my wave, acting like i’m stupid
well listen, duke, i’m happy i could inspire you
just know the day we go face-to-face i will retire you
fire you, broken jaw wire you, expire you
me die before you? you liar, you
who got ya?
you know i got more for sure (for sure)
i’m in ya hood dolo, movin’ merch door-to-door (ding)
house-to-house, floor-to-floor
made a hundred racks last year without a website or a store (n-gg-)
all hustle, fat boy, all muscle (yup)
right hook’ll make ya jaw buckle (bow)
it’ll only takes one fist four knuckles, you could get it
the key to life remain humble, stay consistent
i saw the light excite all the freaks
sell in a day and drop new sh-t every week
i’m not these other rappers, i be doin’ what i speak (facts)
sweatin’ in the summer while you coolin’ at the beach
these dudes think hustlin’ is sendin’ out a tweet (nah, yo)
she wit’ me givin’ toppy while you dm her your meat (ew)
homie, you a creep, you a weirdo, you a freak (yup)
jumpin’ crew-to-crew that just shows me that you’re weak (homie)
i’m out here with the fans
takin’ pictures for the ‘gram in the streets
while you dying your dirty dreads with bleach (f-ck outta here)
i put my soul into these raps everyday i sacrifice
so you could have some real sh-t in ya life
who got ya?

[interlude]
yo, why does it sound like that?
like what?
grimy
’cause it’s supposed to, stupid

- nems

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