Released: April 1, 2015
Songwriter: Scott Arceneaux Jr. Aristos Petrou Black Smurf
Producer: Budd Dwyer
[Verse 1: Black Smurf]
I be like, "fuck the world and everybody in it" sometimes
At times, I feel like I'm alone, like all my friends in my mind
Say Hustle God, got street cred, boy, I never fell off my grind
The most respected in this shit, just to walk in the sky
Could tell if you a foreign, shoot ya from the look in this eye
Maybe if I do bands up, show him a glimpse of that side
My father-side easy to spot you sparkin', you catch that five
If I burn you, third-degree, you may or may not survive, puss'
[Verse 2: RUBY DA CHERRY]
Smoking, bitch, I got the same plug as Spit Vicious
24k, fuck off bitch, yeah, the blunt tastes like gold, it's delicious
Keep on talkin', boy, we know that you's a pussy, you fictitious
Rattin' out a woadie for a bag of silver, you Judas-ish
I do this shit, Hustle Fam ambitious
Slit wrist fistin' bitches
I ain't fresh to death, my death is fresh
I'm so clean, but still got glitches
Diggin' in a grave, bitch, I'm looking for the riches
(Bitch, I'm looking for the riches, yuh)
[Bridge: $CRIM]
$ui–, $ui–
[Verse 3: $CRIM]
Just another day high as fuck
Riding 'round, blowin' pounds with the windows up
I'm just addicted to drugs, but I ain't ever giving up
You ever walk up in a room and see no face you can trust?
Treat these hoes how I want, shoot motherfuckers for fun
If I was you, I wouldn't smoke with me
You never know what's up in my blunt
I was taught to rob and serve, make a sucker bite the curb
Walking slow and talking slurred, spillin' syrup on my shirt
I be like, "fuck the world and everybody in it" sometimes
At times, I feel like I'm alone, like all my friends in my mind
Say Hustle God, got street cred, boy, I never fell off my grind
The most respected in this shit, just to walk in the sky
Could tell if you a foreign, shoot ya from the look in this eye
Maybe if I do bands up, show him a glimpse of that side
My father-side easy to spot you sparkin', you catch that five
If I burn you, third-degree, you may or may not survive, puss'
[Verse 2: RUBY DA CHERRY]
Smoking, bitch, I got the same plug as Spit Vicious
24k, fuck off bitch, yeah, the blunt tastes like gold, it's delicious
Keep on talkin', boy, we know that you's a pussy, you fictitious
Rattin' out a woadie for a bag of silver, you Judas-ish
I do this shit, Hustle Fam ambitious
Slit wrist fistin' bitches
I ain't fresh to death, my death is fresh
I'm so clean, but still got glitches
Diggin' in a grave, bitch, I'm looking for the riches
(Bitch, I'm looking for the riches, yuh)
[Bridge: $CRIM]
$ui–, $ui–
[Verse 3: $CRIM]
Just another day high as fuck
Riding 'round, blowin' pounds with the windows up
I'm just addicted to drugs, but I ain't ever giving up
You ever walk up in a room and see no face you can trust?
Treat these hoes how I want, shoot motherfuckers for fun
If I was you, I wouldn't smoke with me
You never know what's up in my blunt
I was taught to rob and serve, make a sucker bite the curb
Walking slow and talking slurred, spillin' syrup on my shirt
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