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memorabilia - saint andrews lyrics

[intro]

you’re doing all this f-cking just give that sh-t back, n-gga…
i ain’t even f-cking play out here
yall n-ggas just playing and joking around. sh-t ain’t no f-cking joke n-gga
just give me that sh-t back, n-gga. what the f-ck
i’d do anything to get that back n-gga. put that on my life, n-gga
put that on anybody i love, n-gga. for real, n-gga
sh-t, y’all n-ggas playing, man. i need that sh-t, n-gga. f-ck
i need yesterday, n-gga. f-ck tomorrow

[verse 1]

i made last night some memorabilia
so nostalgic, she’ll remember ain’t no n-gga realer
stay true to this path because it’s been within us
back when tee’s were 3x and rims were spinnas
old heads used to send me to store
bopping past ‘rillo guts thinking “what was that for?”
jay was back doing beats i would snap on
but they was snapping for a block they could trap on
but that was over west, late night, mask on
while i take a 40 to the head and get p-ssed more
and i’m thinking “why i f-ck with these n-ggas?”
one simple conclusion, “these my f-cking n-ggas”
i done seen sh-t most n-ggas ain’t heard of
k!lled my innocence, i’m innocent, it ain’t murder
that’s a suicidal picture i could paint further
but you would brush it off, so it ain’t no love at all

[verse 2]

well i’m back in the office, rap is r-t-rde
k!lling careers like “get back in your coffin”
your grave’s dug by an immaculate artist
and i ain’t phased by who’s rapping the hardest
pardon me if i’m lacking a conscience
but my conscious thoughts are driven back to my nonsense
and they tell you it’s a wrap if you’re honest
but if in me you see them, then what would that accomplish
now i can combine syllables when i ridicule
like “you n-ggas is pitiful, few triggers, i’m k!lling crews
you b-tch, this the interlude, rudest when in interviews
i’m cooler than these n-ggas who be drooling for these b-tches too”
but b-tch i ain’t no backpacker
i could get your girl high, break her back after
give her back spasms, it’s a bad habit
i just give her dope d-ck, call me crackmatic
i just rose from the concrete where arms meet
like tug of war with a martyr when i’m in arms reach
guardian angel letting me trip and fall
and the devil on my shoulder picked me up, screaming “ball!”
so i turn to my n-ggas and face a l
i’d rather face my demons, f-ck facing myself
i raise h-ll, never stooping to that level
boxed in like the stoop kid, but i’m in
a position to be in condition
where position my mission and take control of my opposition
no pot to p-ss in, just vision, a vision to see me winning
even though a blind atheist could probably see me sinning
ooh and sin i do
cold shoulders in the winter, that’s what winners do
so if you need one to cry on, you’re stuck with me
and i’m so exhausted, everybody’s trying to m-ffle me
luckily, it’s a couple people that f-ck with me
apple ain’t fall far but i chopped down the f-cking tree
man, i cuss too much, i got f-cking problems
but she told me “nah, for real, you got f-cking problems”

- saint andrews lyrics

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