Paper Boy Trell - Chronic (feat. Jessie Andrew) Lyrics

Late nights writing songs, so my feelings would pass
Loud pack in the swisher when I'm rolling the grass
12 pulled, dropped the lights, dropped my foot on the gas
Needed money for the rent, so I dug in the stash
I remember being cold, hit the stove for the heat
Now I'm dropping good heat, you can count every week
Smoking gas in the room til it put me to sleep
Ion fall in love with thotties, I ain't rubbing ya feet

9 to 5, work Sonic
Hit up Q for the Chronic
You don't get this shit easy
Had to show em I want it
When I get a couple mil
Ima try not to flaunt it
Diss on Instagram
I won't give em a comment

Running off on niggas cuz the money wasn't adding up
Lean in the cup, kidney hurting, Ima double up
When I catch a opp, on my set Ima shut him up
Put it on God and ya momma, you ain't real enough
Clip getting small, I won't stop til I fill him up
Nigga you was snitching shoulda knew that you was squealing up
I ain't tryna fake, dump ya body like a double cup
He ain't wanna listen, so you know I had to shut him up

Shut him up or knuckle up, we make them sick then buckle up
We coming from a place where you don't hear nobody come up from
Run and duck when police come, so niggas sweet like buttercups
Get tummy tucked without the covers, run for cover, here they come
Running back through the crack, niggas bolt, they shooting back
Through the alley, through the pack, speed up pace they on our back
Back in the wisdom, we hiding and ducking
We run a raid and they shut down the function
Momma like my momma probably know nothing
Formally get it back up and then run again

17 with 9 to 5s
38s stay on the job
Money they religion
But they sinners
Don't you pray to God?
16 and sipping lean
Chronic and some Hennessy
You slip and see some shit
Don't plead the fifth
This shit you meant to see

Crips was never meant to bleed
And we was never meant to be
Spitting shit from feelings quick
Don't hit and quit
This shit is really from a place
That you'll pass quick if you don't f*ckin pay attention
Pay attention, pay admission
Get a grip then get out, get it?
Outta Chipley, out the system
Where nobody make a living
Jits don't spit it from the heart
Bout the shit they really feeling
Everybody wanna rap
Everybody got a strap
Everybody want a lick
But can't nobody flip a pack
Ain't nobody tryna get it
Ain't nobody pushing limits
Everybody want a million
But ain't nobody wanna listen

Trap season, flipping pack
Blow a zip, get it back
In the stu creating track
12 tripping on my back
Grabbing fruit from Mariana
Couple ounces and a Fanta
3 ho's, you can call me Santa
I feel like I'm in Atlanta
I just found a double cup
Double R's, bubble up
Thinking bout a Bentley truck
I'm just trynna get a buck

Me and Bill on a lick
I just hit 2 in a row
And I'm catching jugs
So my trap ain't never moving slow
On this gas losing breath
Thirty shoot like I was Steph
Too official, not a ref
Cooking like a master chef

Grams in the zip bag and I got a full mag
Pull up on me thinking that I'm goofy then you going sad
Thinking bout the things I lost that I wish I had
I ain't talking Wal-Mart, put you in a grocery bag