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letra de common wealth - peezy

[intro]
(good job, 1st)

[verse]
lately, i’ve been goin’ through some sh-t, but i’ll be okay
got real-life sh-t goin’ on, ain’t nothin’ to do with pape’
drunk a whole eight of wock’, you should see my face
can’t even keep my f-ckin’ eyes open on the interstate
get your weight up, lil’ n-gga, yeah, i been in shape
i’m stickin’ to the f-ckin’ g code, i won’t bend or break
keep the grass cut low so i can see the snakes
you walk around with your life savings, you don’t need a safe
took a half a ticket to the bank, gotta keep it safe
i prayed for that sh-t and went and got it, i believe in faith
mama tellin’ me to get some rest, but i don’t need a break
i need the house with the swimming pool and a brand new wraith
just bought a new watch, but not to tell time
i really live the sh-t you hear me rappin’, i don’t tell lies
i don’t post drugs on the ‘net, b-tch, i sell mine
spent a dub in the louis store just to k!ll time
can’t wait ’til they free my n-gga out the joint
’cause we gon’ ball on they ass from miami to detroit
i’m the heart and the soul of my city, plus the voice
had to get it out the mud, i ain’t have no other choice
sippin’ mud, you can hear it in my voice
six hundred for the baccarat cologne, got her moist
rich n-gga, catch me slidin’ through my city in a porsche
i sold crack when i was young, i really never played sports
twelve hundred for the jeans, only wear ’em once
thirty-five hundred for a jacket, that’s a pair of buffs
n-ggas couldn’t f-ck with us alone, now they pairin’ up
i’m really not concerned what they be on, i don’t care enough
hit a bad b-tch form the back, gotta tear it up
be careful when you cookin’ up crack, gotta stir it up
cuttin’ up an onion in the packs got me tearin’ up
i made a couple mil’ and came back, i’m a real one
yeah, i ain’t never left my n-ggas in a jam
yeah, i ain’t never ever did a f-ckin’ scam
yeah, this a caddy truck, this is not a ram
i’m into sellin’ whole chickens, baby, i am not a ham
sick of n-ggas talkin’ like they rich and they ain’t got a band
i’ll sic them n-ggas on your p-ssy ass and i ain’t gotta pay ’em
i just made fifty this morning, you are not aware
you goin’ through your b-tch cellphone, you really not a player
got a mixed b-tch with good credit and a lot of hair
i can’t put my phone in my pocket, it’s a knot in there
had to blend in in west v, wearin’ college gear
i’m trappin’ in the commonwealth state, this sh-t hot as h-ll
got circles for the low, i cut ’em out a square
n-ggas perpin’ on the low, they ain’t got no bread
in my hood, i got juice, i ain’t radames
the dictionary might run out of words ‘fore i run out of bread

- peezy

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