lirik lagu atthat - pay for pain
[verse 1: atthat]
pulling up to your block in the minivan
pulling out my glock, like a risky man
weapon in one hand, whisky in the other
we got this shit planned, nothing to discover
activity is contraband, warned by my mother
this ain’t no promised land, so why even bother
k!lling niggas is my job, don’t make it personal
do this shit without a mob, shit’s still terminal
[chorus: atthat]
can’t hop in my lane. busy moving cocaine
nigga going too fast. leaving you in the dust
gotta pay for pain. gotta make it rain
you’re gonna come last. better gain my trust
gotta pay for pain. getting paid for pain
gotta pay for pain. getting paid for pain
gotta pay for pain. getting paid for pain
gotta pay for pain. getting paid for pain
[verse 2: atthat]
walking down the street, trynna be discrete
jobs almost complete, concrete creating a beat
turn the corner, look, there’s a f-cking fleet. i can take em on’ with my heat
hol’ up. b-tch, take a f-cking seat
one’s coming at me, i can feel the tension
might wanna start running, avoid attention
i’m a bystander, pretty big pretension
*gun c-ck sound*
walk past freely, released suspension
guess it was wrong, my feeling of apprehension
meet up with the boys, another day, another pay
riding in the backseat, ready for a buffet
better pray you don’t become prey, while we’re on our way
wait, who’s that, light em up like an ashtray
you can’t touch me, i’m surrounded by adders
money stacks so tall you niggas need ladders
they told me this record was only for pros
so atthat gon get vip i suppose
[chorus: atthat]
can’t hop in my lane. busy moving cocaine
nigga going too fast. leaving you in the dust
gotta pay for pain. gotta make it rain
you’re gonna come last. better gain my trust
gotta pay for pain. getting paid for pain
gotta pay for pain. getting paid for pain
stepping up to the game like i already own it
take a look at my fame, won’t f-cking loan it
my style so sick you wish you could clone it
this beat like my d-ck, you better ringtone it
the door to my silver chevrolet i slam
my presence makes this shit buckingham
i’m trafficking, but no traffic jam
money pouring out, i’m like “hoover d-mn!”
f-ck a grammy, we want that golden gram
we don’t beef nigga, eating rack of lamb
lamb then blam! knocked out, anagram
atthat on the bars and the beat, god d-mn
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