letra de yellow tape - sob odee
[intro]
(dicey)
(valentine, this sh-t go crazy)
i stand on business, yeah
sob sh-t
take off
[chorus]
i’m not fightin’ n-ggas, f-ck you think i got this gun for?
three grams in my ‘wood, i smoke exotic ’til my lungs blow
city, it been hot, ain’t no more k!llin’, where the fun go?
he gon’ act for live, when he see us, i bet he run though
do him bad, it’s a protocol to try to catch his ass
broski, he a dog with that four-four, i told him, “fetch his ass”
used to serve inside the school, i swear i never went to class
i know when you come from sh-t and i know how to get a bag
[verse 1]
we was all like seventeen when we created sob
graduated in the trenches, still ain’t make it out the streets
told my brother that we not a gang and we a family
it be times when i don’t sleep ’cause i got n-ggas after me
i pray to the lord and tell him to watch the back of me
rollin’ up some rapper weed, clap, he would’ve clapped for me
i gotta keep my strap with me, if i don’t, it’s a wrap for me
like how they all support my music now, they used to laugh at me
i got tired of gettin’ in trouble, movin’ weight
put my foot on top the gas and let it off, say f-ck a brake
it’s like since i got a name, they worried ’bout the sh-t i make
yellow tape, any n-gga try to take somethin’ off my waist
and my brothers know i got ’em, if it’s smoke, then we gon’ handle it
can’t take another loss, i know it hurt to see that candlelit
city full of tragic sh-t
got a bigger bag, so i need me more than an average b-tch
most these b-tches trash and [?] havin’ sh-t
[chorus]
i’m not fightin’ n-ggas, f-ck you think i got this gun for?
three grams in my ‘wood, i smoke exotic ’til my lungs blow
city, it been hot, ain’t no more k!llin’, where the fun go?
he gon’ act for live, when he see us, i bet he run though
do him bad, it’s a protocol to try to catch his ass
broski, he a dog with that four-four, i told him, “fetch his ass”
used to serve inside the school, i swear i never went to class
i know when you come from sh-t and i know how to get a bag
[verse 2]
i know n-ggas who get money and know n-ggas on they ass
it ain’t my job to worry ’bout another man, i’m not they dad
n-ggas actin’ like f-gs, tried to put you on, you made me mad
now it’s f-ck you, ain’t no strings attached, i left you in the past
tryna judge me, n-ggas mad i’m poppin’ pills just like they tags
this ar came with titties, it’s a hundred shots up in my mag
trackhawk do the dash, turn the traction on, this b-tch too fast
i came out in first, i know that they mad, they put me last
lil’ bro gon’ do ’em dirty, we ain’t squashin’ sh-t, ain’t wavin’ flags
know we shoot like curry, let that nickel sing just like it’s jazz
[chorus]
i’m not fightin’ n-ggas, f-ck you think i got this gun for?
three grams in my ‘wood, i smoke exotic ’til my lungs blow
city, it been hot, ain’t no more k!llin’, where the fun go?
he gon’ act for live, when he see us, i bet he run though
do him bad, it’s a protocol to try to catch his ass
broski, he a dog with that four-four, i told him, “fetch his ass”
used to serve inside the school, i swear i never went to class
i know when you come from sh-t and i know how to get a bag
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