Ross’ Lyrics
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Credit: Noam Galai/Getty Images
I was pissing my shorts having rich nigga thoughts
Wish I had a pistol before all the friends I done fought
Over night I seen a ni**a go get a Carrera
Two weeks later I had to be that boy pallbearer
Young king bury me inside a glass casket
Windex wipe me down for the life after
Crack dealer living like a hoop star
Black marble, white walls in my new spot
Four chains, big studs, a ni**a too fly
Top down, tank top, I think I’m 2Pac
So I’m labeled the rebel, ni**a get on my level
We were born to be kings, only major league teams
Chasing my paper, couldn’t fathom my wealth
Built a school in Ethiopia, should enroll in myself
God body and mind, food for the soul
When you feeding on hate, you empty, my ni**a, it shows
Follow the codes, ain’t no love for these hoes
If you slip and you fall I got you my ni**a, hold on
If you right or you wrong, if you riding come on
By the end of this song, can’t be hiding for long
I seen children get slaughtered, ni**as’ grandmothers assaulted
Throw a gang sign, dare you do something about it
Fuck copping them foams, when you copping the home
Cop a kilo and have them people on top of your home
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