Grace — Official Lyrics
[Verse: Dei Scripture & 1kdadonnn]
Slidin in that Bent’ without no traction I was tryna ball out, I ain’t have shit but a mattress Okay, some of these niggas, yeah they pray they catch me lackin’ My pockets on bloat, yuh, because I’m steady rackin’ Stackin’ dividends Tryna rock out with my twin Glock 19, this a gen, prayin’ for the day I win Hatin’ on me you look like a damn fan Pull my glock out we gon’ spin Mud in my cup, steady sippin’ on ten Puttin’ my racks all in my Benz With the greats, they knew that I was in Youn’t know me, please do not call me your friend Fuck losin’ your life over pussy, show a band He was just mad ‘cause his lil bitch is a fan A hundred racks on a jet, I touch down and I land Famous Dex in my red bottoms, you just get Japan’ed This shit get real, makin’ ends Shi get real, makin’ ends Lifestyle is so real, I could never pretend My lifestyle is so real, they just followin’ trends We stayin’ trill til it end Blowin’ zips up in a Benz Play with me ‘n’ hit you with a stend Can’t forget the dough, he a breeze, he get smoked They dependin’ on me, I could never go broke Can’t believe a word they say If you ain’t about that pape, get the fuck up out my face Never givin’ out no passes, barely givin’ out some grace Draco hittin’ out so loud, rock this shit right out the place They already know this shit a race Back up off, get off my case That’s my spade, twin my ace Crack that bitch just like a vase I was lost, but I caught that ball I ain’t gon’ stop, ‘til I get that call That all the ones that did me wrong Gon’ see me at the top, right until I fuckin’ fall Fourth quarter ball hard like John Wall These fakers be so fuckin’ drawn The pressure ain’t nun, yeah I gotta stand tall No legs for the bag, yeah I’m gon’ crawl He ain’t want smoke, ‘cause he did me wrong Weed make me choke, ‘cause I hit that bong They ain’t wanna listen when we made that song Za make me feel just like Armstrong Inhalin’ opp pack in my lungs Tell her “don’t use teeth, bitch use your tongue” Cookin’ up heat when I wrote them rhymes Paid that price, know I spoke my mind Milk date on the opps, they ass expired Light my blunt with the booth, ‘cause this shit fire