All eyes on me
Yeah, nah I mean?
Everybody can't go
This shit sound like some Pac shit
This for us, man, this ain't for everybody
Classic shit
Southside Boys, you know what it is, everybody can't go
Buffalo, Eastside though
Black Soprano Family, big Griselda
Y'all know my name, y'all watched what I did with this (ay, man, I feel you)
I don't need the trophy
I am the trophy, I be telling niggas
Yo
It's a story behind that name when they call me the Pyrex man (Mr. Pyrex man)
Like them two bricks from Doug and papis from Kazakhstan (ah)
I never sold meth, but I know Fent' a thousand yams (a thousand)
You ODing off this shit if you bag it, don't wash your hands
Me, teary eyed and gullible, I lived it with a mother who struggled through
Addiction, I know every side to drug abuse (I know every side)
For life got this comfortable
It's been a few niggas who still in they same position because our bond indestructible
It go both ways, auntie spent a thirty on that rock
And the nigga who served her owe a plug who thirsty for that knot
The dealer, who fronted that birdy, he murder for that guap
That was me, but now, I'm currently trading currency for stocks
I'm Wall Street butcherin', I'm getting thirty percent off top
Forty percent get chopped, other thirty? Back in the pot
Ask these rappers shit I did for upstate just help make 'em hot (I did that)
When I invite 'em to the lab, they be scared to play what they got
I'm the don of all dons
Ysl and Bond number 9, living proof
Sign of the times that hate won't bother your grind
I feel like West on Gustavo, the cocky confident side
You look a killer in they face 'cause they say that eyes still don't lie
I'm hearing rumors start to fly that we split the triangle, nah (nah)
Any talks of that's maniacal, buy y'all buy it though, why? (For what?)
I'm still that same hustler, fresh out the P's that signed on the spot (that's me)
I guess I stepped on a few rappers on my climb to the top
Who sliding, invited or not
The violence won't stop, we on that same timing, them irons go cock
Then them sliding doors pop
My niggas catch you at that light then light up your drop (you know what it is)
It's like that, the last opp we whacked, we reunited the block
Long road since success, they hearts broke when I step (broke they heart)
They reminiscing of me, speaking that Morse code to connects ('member that?)
Me and my homies passport bros, pilots load up the jets (we out)
Golf streams, landing in time zones no one expects, mh (yeah)
Chip in on jet fuel, the flight I slept through
I just need a shot of tequila and Bluetooth I can connect to (all I need)
It's disrespectful, let sit these niggas next to
Butch, so I'm shitting around these pussies just like an all-gender restroom
Trips to Bahamas, y'all talking shit from the comments (keep talking)
I'm somewhere off the coast, smoking cartridges with my mama
It's Butch, I did it solid, turn visions to dollars
Seven year run, three away from that ten that I promised y'all on One Way Flight
Brick rawer than Monday night
I've always been a bigger fish, y'all skinny pimps like Money Mike
Still no license, running lights, I let you pick the gun and knife
Shay said there's no one as nice and that nigga was f*cking right
So f*ck you twice, Butch
Big Butch
You know how we do this, nah I mean?
Streets still belong to us
Yeah, big boys, Griselda, Black Soprano Family, ah
Benny The Butcher - Jermanie's Graduation Lyrics
Benny The Butcher - Jermanie's Graduation Lyrics
Official
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
All eyes on me
Yeah, nah I mean?
Everybody can't go
This shit sound like some Pac shit
This for us, man, this ain't for everybody
Classic shit
Southside Boys, you know what it is, everybody can't go
Buffalo, Eastside though
Black Soprano Family, big Griselda
Y'all know my name, y'all watched what I did with this (ay, man, I feel you)
I don't need the trophy
I am the trophy, I be telling niggas
Yo
It's a story behind that name when they call me the Pyrex man (Mr. Pyrex man)
Like them two bricks from Doug and papis from Kazakhstan (ah)
I never sold meth, but I know Fent' a thousand yams (a thousand)
You ODing off this shit if you bag it, don't wash your hands
Me, teary eyed and gullible, I lived it with a mother who struggled through
Addiction, I know every side to drug abuse (I know every side)
For life got this comfortable
It's been a few niggas who still in they same position because our bond indestructible
It go both ways, auntie spent a thirty on that rock
And the nigga who served her owe a plug who thirsty for that knot
The dealer, who fronted that birdy, he murder for that guap
That was me, but now, I'm currently trading currency for stocks
I'm Wall Street butcherin', I'm getting thirty percent off top
Forty percent get chopped, other thirty? Back in the pot
Ask these rappers shit I did for upstate just help make 'em hot (I did that)
When I invite 'em to the lab, they be scared to play what they got
I'm the don of all dons
Ysl and Bond number 9, living proof
Sign of the times that hate won't bother your grind
I feel like West on Gustavo, the cocky confident side
You look a killer in they face 'cause they say that eyes still don't lie
I'm hearing rumors start to fly that we split the triangle, nah (nah)
Any talks of that's maniacal, buy y'all buy it though, why? (For what?)
I'm still that same hustler, fresh out the P's that signed on the spot (that's me)
I guess I stepped on a few rappers on my climb to the top
Who sliding, invited or not
The violence won't stop, we on that same timing, them irons go cock
Then them sliding doors pop
My niggas catch you at that light then light up your drop (you know what it is)
It's like that, the last opp we whacked, we reunited the block
Long road since success, they hearts broke when I step (broke they heart)
They reminiscing of me, speaking that Morse code to connects ('member that?)
Me and my homies passport bros, pilots load up the jets (we out)
Golf streams, landing in time zones no one expects, mh (yeah)
Chip in on jet fuel, the flight I slept through
I just need a shot of tequila and Bluetooth I can connect to (all I need)
It's disrespectful, let sit these niggas next to
Butch, so I'm shitting around these pussies just like an all-gender restroom
Trips to Bahamas, y'all talking shit from the comments (keep talking)
I'm somewhere off the coast, smoking cartridges with my mama
It's Butch, I did it solid, turn visions to dollars
Seven year run, three away from that ten that I promised y'all on One Way Flight
Brick rawer than Monday night
I've always been a bigger fish, y'all skinny pimps like Money Mike
Still no license, running lights, I let you pick the gun and knife
Shay said there's no one as nice and that nigga was f*cking right
So f*ck you twice, Butch
Big Butch
You know how we do this, nah I mean?
Streets still belong to us
Yeah, big boys, Griselda, Black Soprano Family, ah
Yeah, nah I mean?
Everybody can't go
This shit sound like some Pac shit
This for us, man, this ain't for everybody
Classic shit
Southside Boys, you know what it is, everybody can't go
Buffalo, Eastside though
Black Soprano Family, big Griselda
Y'all know my name, y'all watched what I did with this (ay, man, I feel you)
I don't need the trophy
I am the trophy, I be telling niggas
Yo
It's a story behind that name when they call me the Pyrex man (Mr. Pyrex man)
Like them two bricks from Doug and papis from Kazakhstan (ah)
I never sold meth, but I know Fent' a thousand yams (a thousand)
You ODing off this shit if you bag it, don't wash your hands
Me, teary eyed and gullible, I lived it with a mother who struggled through
Addiction, I know every side to drug abuse (I know every side)
For life got this comfortable
It's been a few niggas who still in they same position because our bond indestructible
It go both ways, auntie spent a thirty on that rock
And the nigga who served her owe a plug who thirsty for that knot
The dealer, who fronted that birdy, he murder for that guap
That was me, but now, I'm currently trading currency for stocks
I'm Wall Street butcherin', I'm getting thirty percent off top
Forty percent get chopped, other thirty? Back in the pot
Ask these rappers shit I did for upstate just help make 'em hot (I did that)
When I invite 'em to the lab, they be scared to play what they got
I'm the don of all dons
Ysl and Bond number 9, living proof
Sign of the times that hate won't bother your grind
I feel like West on Gustavo, the cocky confident side
You look a killer in they face 'cause they say that eyes still don't lie
I'm hearing rumors start to fly that we split the triangle, nah (nah)
Any talks of that's maniacal, buy y'all buy it though, why? (For what?)
I'm still that same hustler, fresh out the P's that signed on the spot (that's me)
I guess I stepped on a few rappers on my climb to the top
Who sliding, invited or not
The violence won't stop, we on that same timing, them irons go cock
Then them sliding doors pop
My niggas catch you at that light then light up your drop (you know what it is)
It's like that, the last opp we whacked, we reunited the block
Long road since success, they hearts broke when I step (broke they heart)
They reminiscing of me, speaking that Morse code to connects ('member that?)
Me and my homies passport bros, pilots load up the jets (we out)
Golf streams, landing in time zones no one expects, mh (yeah)
Chip in on jet fuel, the flight I slept through
I just need a shot of tequila and Bluetooth I can connect to (all I need)
It's disrespectful, let sit these niggas next to
Butch, so I'm shitting around these pussies just like an all-gender restroom
Trips to Bahamas, y'all talking shit from the comments (keep talking)
I'm somewhere off the coast, smoking cartridges with my mama
It's Butch, I did it solid, turn visions to dollars
Seven year run, three away from that ten that I promised y'all on One Way Flight
Brick rawer than Monday night
I've always been a bigger fish, y'all skinny pimps like Money Mike
Still no license, running lights, I let you pick the gun and knife
Shay said there's no one as nice and that nigga was f*cking right
So f*ck you twice, Butch
Big Butch
You know how we do this, nah I mean?
Streets still belong to us
Yeah, big boys, Griselda, Black Soprano Family, ah
Writer: Alan Maman, Jeremie Pennick
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC