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lirik lagu yungen - warm up sessions

[intro]
sb
yungen, money 1st
[?] the mandem
barz, e, teo, skinz, ham, jay, swag, nerves

[verse 1]
i’m tryna blow, i ain’t really tryna see a jail bus
i’m looking up because i’ve been through the h-ll trust
i’ve got my girls up
i’m on the ball to be first, someone put ice in my world cup
ah, like who’s in my bracket?
the metaphor’s a lighter, these dudes couldn’t match it
fronting he’s a bad boy but can he hack it
’cause i’ma turn him back to front if i slap it
’cause i be kicking, thinking about my dead cousin
thinking ’bout my past, tryna push my ex b-ttons
i’ll be sipping yak thinking should i redrum him?
we get them b-ss sticks out and leave his head drumming
i’ve got the browning forking out the lead
tell him mind how it’s talking, i’m all about the head
i’m hustling for hard dough so i can eat a king’s meal, basically i’m all about my bread
they’re saying i’m on fire, na i ain’t tryna cool off
i’m doing kind of well, i ain’t tryna fall off
my speech marks i’m the best under 21 but i’m just tryna be the best full stop
but it’s peak ’cause i’m stuck in this pepper war
where over a little picture, the weapons draw
i can get a wh-r-
i just give her a punchline and she’ll know exactly what i met her for
they say talking road i will never make it
but i don’t live a fairy tale, so why fake it
‘nough man make believe, i don’t rate it
but sign me for a two pack and we’ll see some changes
uh, i’m talking cribs, ranges
i can’t watch, i ain’t into all that chain sh-t
i rearrange sh-t
i’ve got some metal that handles a whole bag of teeth, can you brace this?
they say the game’s their’s, but the game’s our’s
how can the game be their’s if they cowards
i’ve been doing this for months, weeks, days, hours
dug ’em on another level, ask dane bowers
i go so in, now they notice
they’re comparing me to ne-yo, i’m so sick
’cause everything that i’m saying, they quote it
straight up man, i’m even on my own d-ck
real talk, they be loving if i’m dead
i still get hood dough but it ain’t covering my head
i ain’t tryna be 21, hustling a z
i’d rather eat the cake with the custard on the edge
now there’s so many man i’ve deserted, i’m tryna break fast without no porridge
and i’m the proof that they overrate college
jesus pieces just to show we make profit
and when we riding out, we don’t call phone
i’m tryna slap about 3, bring the ball home
mr. put it in her stomach, call me gallstones
i literally make a wh-r- moan

[verse 2]
i ain’t tryna make my ball sink
so i always go in first, then i let them all drink
like what the f-ck he on? that’s what they all think
i get head from the queen while she’s dressed in all pink
get it, check it, my royalty’s pathetic
i’ll be living on william’s hill if i bet it
i’m tryna go nationwide without no credit
and abbey wants to f-ck but i’m telling her forget it
money 1st, i’m just tryna get my grands up
i’ve got my stick in lloyd banks, hands up
i send dough to my brudda stiff banged up
knowing i ain’t there with him, thank f-ck
’cause i go ott to get hard ps
i’m tryna start something cut with no car keys
i’m done with the gang ting, i’m just calm [?]
but if i ain’t got my stick, i’ma bark lee’s

[verse 3]
listen, reece just died, it’s like i can’t go bed
i’m on the case, i don’t conversate with no feds
i am no beg
height six foot, size six foot, a bag of girl like my bow legs
and these days it’s like the ends have been so dead
so i just kick while the workers link the dopeheads
i’m after cheese so i don’t jam if there ain’t no bread
chocolate girl that i beat ’til there ain’t no spread
i’m in my own league, there’s no one like me
swag’s mad, i only rock it if it’s pricey
plus i’ve got a thing for a lightey
that likes to wear short short skirts like she’s primary
she asked me what i do, like what’s my occupation
she like a 9 to 5 could never pay the guap i’m making
i’m like listen babe, i’m always chop and changing
she asked me so much that i chop and changed it
’cause i will die for my ps
my angle’s the right one, 90 degrees
take that to fahrenheit and that gon’ be my heat
so don’t talk my name unless you’re talking the elite
i think they mistaking me
they underrating me
i make your alb-m sh-t, they mixtaping me
i’ve got a flow, i’m getting dough so they hating me
but they don’t understand the more they hate, the more they making me
like, i ain’t trying to get into politics
i’ve got an a-level flow, college sh-t
plus i’ve got a bag of dons that i’m on it with
busting off my ting since 14, this is honest sh-t
’cause we was moving bricks
so we moving sticks
i heard he had one too, he wasn’t using it
me i was shooting it, main road loose with it
me, barz, lou on the block, back of lunatics
tell him keep up, i’m on the highway gone
and i ain’t f-cking with him, sideways don
tryna usher me, talking ’bout my way’s wrong
ice cube on the pinky, got my friday on
i’ve got the biscuit in my custom jeans
uh, and i ain’t talking ’bout no custard creams
nowadays i don’t f-ck with fiends
i’ve got the youngers on the job, i make a call and they just run me p
like, so the older dons rate me
nineteen, i started this when i was eighteen
i’m tryna get my foot in the mainstream
broad day, headshot, shouting ’bout a daydream

[outro]
dun kno, mandem
sb
yungen

- lirik lagu yungen

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