Birdman – B-Boyz (feat. Mack Maine, Kendrick Lamar, Ace Hood & DJ Khaled) Lyrics

Birdman – B-Boyz (feat. Mack Maine, Kendrick Lamar, Ace Hood & DJ Khaled) Lyrics
B-Boyz
Birdman (feat. Mack Maine, Kendrick Lamar, Ace Hood & DJ Khaled)
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    B-Boyz Album Art
    "B-Boyz." - Birdman (feat. Mack Maine, Kendrick Lamar, Ace Hood & DJ Khaled)

    Album: B-Boyz (feat. Mack Maine, Kendrick Lamar, Ace Hood & DJ Khaled) - Single
    Track No: 01
    DJ Folk
    A'ight, this record right here is featuring the future!
    Ace Hood, Kendrick Lamar
    One time for the West Coast! (Olympicks!)
    Philly, what's up?
    Talk about it, make 'em talk about it
    Life to me is currency, prosperity, I got it
    And your life to me is lifeless like it's livin' on life support
    I license everything in my wallet, lightest boy with the biggest heart
    ****, play yo' part or parallel park yo' ego next to me and violence
    Next to me is definitely no one, I'm one of one
    And I must've won that from anybody who had it, or better yet, forgot it
    Mack in the back of a 'Lac with a MAC in the back of a 'Lac with a latch on the back
    Of the trunk, hit a punk in the back with the pump in the back till he's off balance
    And I'm back in the front of the front of the future when you are mentioning talent
    And I'm back in the back of the block with a cop, wanna cop anybody's allowance
    Iraq on the block, he watch with a block or whatever and cut, no cut
    Mo' guns, mo' guts, fuck boy, you fucked up twice, you fucked considerin' you drownin'
    Die in a lake with a date with a catfish, backflip head first smilin'
    Cr-cry in the face of Jesus, we just pray we keep on stylin'
    On you bitches, TDE, YMCM, big business, bitch!
    Ace Hood
    Birdman, what they do, big dawg?
    Mack Maine, what's crackin', folk?
    Big money!
    Okay ****, riding in a May-B, and I'm probably with Baby
    Don't talk ****, fuck you, pay me, intercept your bitch like Bailey
    Okay, big money on this side, 100 grand for the whip my bitch drive
    Need a new safe, money getting too high, dead presidents all in my Levi's
    Boy, I swear this **** be swagging, and I'm living lavish
    Might cop me an Aston Martin on 'em
    Anything I drive I own 'em, bad bitch and that ass ain't normal
    Gotta put that pound game on her, beat it up, she deep in a coma
    I'm super paid, two shows a day
    My Rollie gold, no time to waste
    What it do, Bird? My fuckin' brother
    Keep that pistol by me like my lovely momma
    Hot as the summer, cold as the winter
    Stay on them charts, I heard that they plotting my timber
    Young ****, got a lot of flows
    Any **** don't believe me, I make it look easy, easy, outta control
    Just like that, boy
    Death forbids honor, ya understand me?
    Dedication, respect
    Fully loaded, yeah
    Box full of choppers, hand on the trigger
    Uptown gangsta, get it how we get it
    Third Ward soldier, suicide rider
    Militant minded, hundred mill on the counter
    Hand Persian rug, ****, flame on the Bugatti
    Christian Louboutin, Chanel for my models
    Higher than Bugatti, ****, fishing on the fish scales
    Nose diving for them hundreds, strapped up making mail
    Fr-fresher than I been before
    Higher than we ever been, shinin' on them 24's
    Junior doing time, ho
    On the grind, ho, while he doing time, ho
    Ya know that time is money and money still was made, baby
    Eight months ain't stop nothing, ****
    It's like, jail was third base
    And my lil' **** still came home, ya understand? Yeah
    I'm from the hood where bitches hold coke in they baby diapers
    That's why when the babies grow up, damn, they be like us
    I came a long ways from rhyming up in crazy cyphers
    Man, I'm so happy my lil' brother came home from Rikers
    Shout out to BP, Thugga, Flow and Fail Boy
    My flow Lucifer, I spit hell, boy
    My heart numb, ain't no pain I can't withstand
    And I hold my **** down, boy, like a kickstand (Young Money!)
    Get off my nuts, stop acting like a bitch, fam
    Lil' ****, finish puberty, grow ya own dick, damn
    I went from watching time fly on Earl and Red porch (To what?)
    To cruising through the streets of Miami in a red Porsche
    Me and Stunna fly, we should join the Air Force
    Stand up ****, the fuck you brought them chairs for?
    I went from making money from people with crack habits
    To thanking God I'm in a whole 'nother tax bracket, amen
    Shout out to the YMCMB bosses
    Birdman, Slim, Lil' Wayne, Mack Maine
    One time for that boy Cortez, aka Tez!
    This how we do it
    We ain't never gon' stop either
    Olympicks!

    Writer(s): B. Williams, Kendrick Lamar, Antoine McColister, Jermaine Preyan, D. Stokes, B Parker, B. Wicker, K. Miller & J. James.

    All lyrical content displayed on this website is the intellectual property of its respective copyright holders. No ownership is implied, and no copyright infringement is intended.

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