Paroles: Tom Chambers

Don’t get in my way, don’t get in my way
Don’t get in my way
Get in my way, shots from the AK
Shit gon’ spray, if you get in my way
Don’t get in my way, don’t get in my way
We don’t play, don’t get in my way
Get in my way

The money green but now it’s blue
I'm a phenom, you feed lies to the youth
Still rock the cream Filas with the strings loose
Don’t think of me when you mention these nincompoops, I’m the truth
Hit you and leave you nude, you can hula hoop through a Froot Loop
The root of all evil’s the love of loot, but brothers wasn’t moved
With stacks of hundreds in the duffel you look lovable
Who ran off to be a couple ‘cause that’s what true lovers do
Fuck with no rubbers in the W
Can’t trust motherfuckers above the room
Why don’t you get comfortable and remove your running shoes
Run through these new dudes like some food, don’t get stuck in your tubes
I can smell the blood in the pool, coming for wounds
Change the color of the lagoon hon’ I’m becoming cruel
Nothing’s new under the sun and moon
It’s rough where I’m from you might wanna take the gun to school
Only a fool would assume that these thugs’ll adjust the rules
I’m sorry to bust your bubble but I’m a stubborn mule
I refuse to coon for some fuckin’ views
Fly your head like a kite
Stretch the white when your bread light, breath is life
They ain’t salute Max until they gave him 75
What good is the credit if you can’t get it while you alive
Uh, niggas love to dick ride when you die
It’s just props, it ain’t a blow job my guy
Pops was wise, watch you idolize
You know what they say about an idle mind so don’t hop over the rifle line

Don’t get in my way, don’t get in my way
Don’t get in my way, get in my way
The shots gon’ spray
If you get in my way, don’t get in my way
Don’t get in my way

When it was 17 a gram, if you shave it right you can make a yard
Mix the yay’ with the baking soda to make it hard
Might go Goyard on the scarf, that’s a start
I play my hands like a card shark, palm the ace of hearts
Made my mark without taking part in the dark arts
We don’t partake in any cake that’s made with baking lard
In any shape or form, they some broads playing gangster lord
Chains on like whores, put makeup on their flaws
If your source is a broad then we all on the same accord
No change of coin can put these boys on this train of thought
Uh, champagne corks on the court yo
Old lady play with my balls ‘cause I ain’t one to make small talk
‘Specially baby not while the game is on
Dog they say I’m the greatest, it’s not to be taken with a grain of salt
Uh, motherfucker that’s a Fendi, I bust my gun ‘til it’s empty
100 round drum, this could be lengthy
MC’s are sent to me on one bent knee (kneel)
Heavy is the head they said when they met the king
Strawberry crush, red promethazine
Seventeen different revenue streams
I’m a much better pedigree
The last thing said to me from a enemy
Made me want to bulletproof ‘erything

The type of shit we on
Who give a fuck about your small town or them little blocks that you hustle on
I remain poised, my 40 cal’ make a loud noise
All my niggas is cocaine cowboys
Don’t make me shoot up your one-horse town
Have intercourse with your bitch then drive my Porsche around
Have my enforcers lay my gangster down
72 ounces, a few pounds of loud
Any drama king keep a streetsweeper to control a crowd
Go to your local strip bar, throw a couple thou’
Put some fiends on a corner, have ‘em handing samples out
Give your team 36 ounces and tell ‘em break it down
When the product’s right and the tick’ is good
You might see me in a hooptee, supplying your hood
In the kitchen with them fumes
Couple fiends, dirty needles and spoons
Bitches in different rooms, shittin’ out balloons
I don’t think you niggas in tune

I’m on a different frequency
The streetsweeper don’t fit beneath the seat
The spliff we hit it it was dipped in PCP
Thieves stole bricks from the chief’s teepee
Fleed the scene but didn’t get off squeaky clean
You must be completely green, my hood wild like Cabrini-Green
Shit don’t come easy, everything you see is covered with graffiti
Your queen rubbed the meat to summon a genie
Being of somewhat of a diety she gon’ kneel to me like these Jesus feet
It’s all written, this was preconceived
Even a priest gon’ crease his knees to kiss the VV’s and the pinky ring
Bonafide hustler but I still chop the shotgun like a buzzcut
That’s for when push come to shove
You’re thrown under the bus pretty much
It’s litty, this all come from the left titty bruh
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