Time killers

Lyrics by：Jairus Mozee/Jason Pounds/Quincy MattHew Hanley

Composed by：Jairus Mozee/Jason Pounds/Quincy MattHew Hanley

Produced by：J.LBS/JMo

Yeah

Yeah

Yeah

Yeah

Huh

Stupid-a*s sh don't wanna hear none of that ****

On God

Uh yeah

Wake up I'm on the night shift don't do me wrong

Pull up I need my sidekick come get me on

On on turn me on

Slow down follow the process I'm in the zone

One umbrella two pairs come you play your rose

Euros really I'm out here I'm in the pros

Black man made it the hard way he think he Hov

So mad looking at my **** it could be yours

911 **** a black folk I got the Porsche

Two time felon behind the gates it's a resort

Gotta watch for these devils that steal

Your **** and get control

Careful on that road dumb lil

Getting low on what he owe

While I'm doing what he don't

'Til then free the locs

Another rapper turn joke

Joke

Another so-so Goddman homie

Please let it go

Let it go

Uh

God bless the dead move from the past

Ay yeah

Nine million all cash hmm

Ay ay

It's like my overtime flex

Ballin'

**** is she satisfied

Yes oh my

Break it off the side

Hate y'all

No secret I'm on the road

They played y'all not with us

Do what you told

Money do cartwheels backflippin' gold

I don't take advice from with no h*es

You talk so much you's the h*e

I live rent-free boy y'all controlled

I need four commas Money **** zeroes

Oh oh oh-oh-oh

Su su su suu

Wake up hop out the phone booth I'm on the way

Grew up on Figueroa street I saw the blade

Lil bo' scrawny for sure was catching fades

Raised by all women and still I never caved

Took it three times extended from greatness I display

Home of the brave ran by the slaves

Stole e'rybody name so white Jesus on the chain

I feel proud when it hangs

Try to hide from the fame and still came with a bang

I'm a Figg turned a black cloud to a flame

I'm a big wheelin' stomach full mouth full of paint

It was God-given lil' took it too far

I'm a lone star street-smart and I'm book-smart

That's the d**e part uh yeah

Look at my report card

Boy supposed to hit the four-yard

A man supposed to have scars

Ayy

It ain't that hard

When I'm groovin' in the nascar

To Hoover Street I'm Mozart

Boy livin' on a postcard

Smooth steerin' for the hard R

**** y'all

My nig

Yeah

They thought I was crazy

Haha they said I was cra

They thought I was crazy