Lil Keke Da Don

Lil Keke Da Don - Still Throwed songtekst

Je score:

[talking] 

Ok, late night grinding 

Understand, Young Don in the building 

Of course, a nigga still throwed with it 

C.M.G. for life, Teflon feel it 



[Lil' Keke] 

I've been told I can't do it, mostly all my life 

I done crapped plenty times, but kept shooting the dice 

You don't work and don't eat, it's a sacrifice 

That's why niggaz go to jail, and they turn to mice 

Eat steaks and kool-aid, not no water and rice 

And my family live good, cause we paid the price 

Could you still be a rapper, without no ice 

I was born with a gift, that's why I flow so nice 

I'm a two-time felon, so I fucked up twice 

So I switched up my game, not to get three strikes 

No I can't win 'em all, but I done won some fights 

And I still smoke weed, on my sleepless nights 

Why niggaz acting like, they don't know wrong from right 

And why they steady trying to ball, when they money is tight 

I'ma peel niggaz back, when they good and ripe 

Cause they just a bunch of talk, trying to find some hype 



[Hook] 

I know I'm thoed with it, and I ain't gon let 'em change my mind 

A kid writing raps, turning nickels into dimes 

I been thoed with it, but they steady talking down 

Continue dropping hits, till it's my motherfucking time 

Still thoed with it, won't these haters let me shine 

I'm hungry for the title, close it up and give me mine 

So thoed with it, like it's all brand new 

Represent for Houston Texas, my niggaz that's what it do 



[Lil' Keke] 

Niggaz screaming in the background, fuck Lil' Ke 

But when I see 'em in the streets, they start copping a plea 

I give a fat rat's ass, what they say bout me 

And my mama told me, Jesus the only thang that's free 

Still thoed with it, cause what's real gon be real 

And rapping ain't a hobby or a game, it's a feel 

I'm puffing on the purple, letting the smoke hit my throat 

Letting the pen hit the pad, then it's murder he wrote 

Got a candy coat, it put my slab on note 

With them suicide do's, and them 84 spokes 

Here's a message boy, from a Texas boy 

C.M.G. is the truth, you'll be breathless boy 

Don't even test us boy, never charging shit 

All I'm saying is I'm grown, don't make me kill ya bitch 

So excuse my french, but niggaz do get lynched 

And my team wins game, in the motherfucking trench 



[Hook]
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Taal: Engels

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