b.i.g dreams - elijah yo lyrics
[verse 1: elijah yo]
look, allot of people talking’ this and that when it comes to the words i wanna rap
i couldn’t really give a f-ck about that
my bars come strapped wit lugers that’ll shoot through the motherf-cking’ roof of the 2 door coupe that your whipping in the future
roll a tufa in a joint its sweeter then manuka
manoeuvre the flow tiger style like its onitsuka
army camouflage pants like i was a trooper
my girl poppin’ i ain’t even gotta introduce her
posted up in the b thats where you can find me
on some king sh-t like martin luther i be with the raw producers
snakes come and im cuttin’ gr-ss’ so f-ck medusa
i put the verse in position like it was karma sutra
& put the p-ssy on the hook like i was towin’ cars
i love that i know all yah moves without you showin’ cards
im goin’ hard tryna put on for the city
cause west sydney’s a bunch of f-ckin’ animals like noahs ark
yeah im’a hustler out here bailin’ thats what i tell’em
you couldn’t get off a f-ckin’ stick if you started sellin’
if i did i’d be a 4 time felon
on the run from the pigs while the homie big yellin’
[verse 2: frank white]
who the f-ck wanna squeeze?
my desert e’s make mc’s freeze
you wakin’ up in cold sweats, they just dreams
you still apologizin’
-n-lyzin’, my size and your size and
realizin’, a fist fight would be asinine
you just pop wines, i must pop nines
genuine steel piece, nozzle in your grill piece
you’re shook up, two bricks, every cook up
we can hook up, all i see is the future
disrespect, i shoot ya
by the way, them bricks get flipped weekly
sold by soldiers that mix weed with the leak leak
die for a dollar, n-gga, life ain’t sweet
play for keeps, wet shirts with experts on the creep
our beef is my fiancé, about to marry it
illegal transactions in farragut with arabics
why not, they fit twelve up in the bedroom
imagine what they stash is like, make you a cl-ssic like
my first lp, beef with me is unhealthy
f-ck around and get an ulcer, loose your pulse or
collapsed lung, look how many gats i brung
for them h0m-s, still doin’ promos
break both your legs you’re movin’ slow-mo
got shine to glow mo’
nine hundred and ninety six grams, you need four mo’
[verse 3: elijah yo]
to ever try & f-ck wit’ me luckily i know just what im doing’ so you won’t ever catch a label out here f-cking’ me
the whole section around me is sucker free…
and all you sucker motherf-ckers you just can’t get enough of me
chucking’ the b rough in the streets
who wanna tussle im stuffing’ the weed next to where i buckle my seat
real chill the way the hustler’s be
yeah im penny splitting’
very different with every written im heavy hitting’
challenging’ i who wanna try or run it by
knew i was down since i had put out who wanna ride
yeah me & ty we f-cking’ fly shoutout jai
i see them hating’ on the side and i wonder why
its so sad, if i had milli dollars i swear i’d probably blow the whole stack tryna enclose that
& next up on the notepad would be getting’ your girl mother sister and your lil brother toe tagged
its funny… if money be the root of all evil
then p-ssing’ around buckets in a cathedral should be illegal
and feeble rappers should get a bucket of diesel thrown on’ em while im striking’ the match keeping it peaceful
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