Yeah, yeah
White tee clean, I be lookin' clean
I be lookin' G, I be rollin' in a Beam', yeah
Whoa
I feel like, I feel like I'm in 2- (yeah, okay)
Red Motorola and the mink for my holster (whoa, red)
Diamonds got, yeah (get that, red Motorola, get that)
Yeah
Red Motorola and the mink for my holster (yeah)
Trunk fit with the Bapestas like I'm Weezy (Weezy)
It's 2005, dancing like I'm Chris Breezy (Breezy)
Scoping out treetop (top), you can't even see me
Okay, the gun's on the table, just pick the toolie up
That's what's up, posted in the cut, smoke you like a blunt (what's up)
Yeah, f*ck you, nigga, you a bitch and your bitch a cunt
All these niggas fakin' for the 'Gram, it's a front
Okay, I know you don't got my back, bro
I work hard every day, I'm alone
And what you call is hell, I call home
I put that shit on my back, but that shit breakin' my bones
Now watch your tone, stop blowin' up my phone
I'm in a different zone, I'm the realest one, I'm not a clone
And every time I pray to God, I'm always on my knees
I look up at the sky, "Take the pain away, please"
Wash away my sins with the Henny and the gin
F*ck a therapist, bitch, I take it on the chin (f*ck, f*ck)
Thought you was my friend, bitch, thought you was my kin
I'm ridin' down to London, bitch, catch me in the ends (bruv)
I don't follow trends (nope), I don't make amends
Life is what you make it, but I can make it end
Close the Rolls Royce, hear the flames through my voice
I always been a soldier, I ain't never had a choice
Red Motorola and the mink for my holster (yeah)
Trunk fit with the Bapestas like I'm Weezy (Weezy)
It's 2005, dancing like I'm Chris Breezy (Breezy)
Scoping out treetop (top), you can't even see me
Okay, the gun's on the table, just pick the toolie up
That's what's up, posted in the cut, smoke you like a blunt (what's up)
Yeah, f*ck you, nigga, you a bitch and your bitch a cunt (f*ck)
All these niggas fakin' for the 'Gram, it's a front
Okay, I know you don't got my back, bro
I work hard every day, I'm alone
And what you call is hell, I call home
I put that shit on my back, but that shit breakin' my bones
NOT - 2005 (Interlude) Lyrics
NOT - 2005 (Interlude) Lyrics
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Yeah, yeah
White tee clean, I be lookin' clean
I be lookin' G, I be rollin' in a Beam', yeah
Whoa
I feel like, I feel like I'm in 2- (yeah, okay)
Red Motorola and the mink for my holster (whoa, red)
Diamonds got, yeah (get that, red Motorola, get that)
Yeah
Red Motorola and the mink for my holster (yeah)
Trunk fit with the Bapestas like I'm Weezy (Weezy)
It's 2005, dancing like I'm Chris Breezy (Breezy)
Scoping out treetop (top), you can't even see me
Okay, the gun's on the table, just pick the toolie up
That's what's up, posted in the cut, smoke you like a blunt (what's up)
Yeah, f*ck you, nigga, you a bitch and your bitch a cunt
All these niggas fakin' for the 'Gram, it's a front
Okay, I know you don't got my back, bro
I work hard every day, I'm alone
And what you call is hell, I call home
I put that shit on my back, but that shit breakin' my bones
Now watch your tone, stop blowin' up my phone
I'm in a different zone, I'm the realest one, I'm not a clone
And every time I pray to God, I'm always on my knees
I look up at the sky, "Take the pain away, please"
Wash away my sins with the Henny and the gin
F*ck a therapist, bitch, I take it on the chin (f*ck, f*ck)
Thought you was my friend, bitch, thought you was my kin
I'm ridin' down to London, bitch, catch me in the ends (bruv)
I don't follow trends (nope), I don't make amends
Life is what you make it, but I can make it end
Close the Rolls Royce, hear the flames through my voice
I always been a soldier, I ain't never had a choice
Red Motorola and the mink for my holster (yeah)
Trunk fit with the Bapestas like I'm Weezy (Weezy)
It's 2005, dancing like I'm Chris Breezy (Breezy)
Scoping out treetop (top), you can't even see me
Okay, the gun's on the table, just pick the toolie up
That's what's up, posted in the cut, smoke you like a blunt (what's up)
Yeah, f*ck you, nigga, you a bitch and your bitch a cunt (f*ck)
All these niggas fakin' for the 'Gram, it's a front
Okay, I know you don't got my back, bro
I work hard every day, I'm alone
And what you call is hell, I call home
I put that shit on my back, but that shit breakin' my bones
White tee clean, I be lookin' clean
I be lookin' G, I be rollin' in a Beam', yeah
Whoa
I feel like, I feel like I'm in 2- (yeah, okay)
Red Motorola and the mink for my holster (whoa, red)
Diamonds got, yeah (get that, red Motorola, get that)
Yeah
Red Motorola and the mink for my holster (yeah)
Trunk fit with the Bapestas like I'm Weezy (Weezy)
It's 2005, dancing like I'm Chris Breezy (Breezy)
Scoping out treetop (top), you can't even see me
Okay, the gun's on the table, just pick the toolie up
That's what's up, posted in the cut, smoke you like a blunt (what's up)
Yeah, f*ck you, nigga, you a bitch and your bitch a cunt
All these niggas fakin' for the 'Gram, it's a front
Okay, I know you don't got my back, bro
I work hard every day, I'm alone
And what you call is hell, I call home
I put that shit on my back, but that shit breakin' my bones
Now watch your tone, stop blowin' up my phone
I'm in a different zone, I'm the realest one, I'm not a clone
And every time I pray to God, I'm always on my knees
I look up at the sky, "Take the pain away, please"
Wash away my sins with the Henny and the gin
F*ck a therapist, bitch, I take it on the chin (f*ck, f*ck)
Thought you was my friend, bitch, thought you was my kin
I'm ridin' down to London, bitch, catch me in the ends (bruv)
I don't follow trends (nope), I don't make amends
Life is what you make it, but I can make it end
Close the Rolls Royce, hear the flames through my voice
I always been a soldier, I ain't never had a choice
Red Motorola and the mink for my holster (yeah)
Trunk fit with the Bapestas like I'm Weezy (Weezy)
It's 2005, dancing like I'm Chris Breezy (Breezy)
Scoping out treetop (top), you can't even see me
Okay, the gun's on the table, just pick the toolie up
That's what's up, posted in the cut, smoke you like a blunt (what's up)
Yeah, f*ck you, nigga, you a bitch and your bitch a cunt (f*ck)
All these niggas fakin' for the 'Gram, it's a front
Okay, I know you don't got my back, bro
I work hard every day, I'm alone
And what you call is hell, I call home
I put that shit on my back, but that shit breakin' my bones
Writer: Edy Edouard, Oluwatoroti Oke
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.