S0L0M0N, Mike B., Wyndigo - Blunts in Bel-Air

All it took was patience, diamonds tell perfect timing
Bitches they love my cadence, my niggas say I be rhyming
Italian cut foreign lining , she like the cloth of designer
Told me that she a stoner, blunts and papers we flying
I'm swanging but this ain't a rental car
Daytona tires on the boulevard
It's menacing look like the Minotaur
Baby body banging like it's one of the wards
A foreign honey that I met on the tour
Tuscan leather on the seat of the Porsche
Burning rubber got my foot to the floor
A couple of semis taped under the door

I put in work
Ain't no accident
Ain't make no wish on four leaf clover
I been chasing this since I was sleeping on the sofa
Ask me why I shine so hard I tell 'em I'm supposed to
Blunts in Bel-Air yeah I do that for the culture
Blunts in Bel-Air yeah I do that for the

Smoking with my kinfolk
Feel the bass catch the tempo
I stayed down ten toes
Tunnel vision on the grind, stuck in limbo
Call the play that's a ten four, I like my Tee all white, keep it simple
Get it popping like Crisco , cuz they know I'll bring the heat like Sisqo
Fuck is you sayin, Hit after hit I ain't playin
A hunnid and twenty, My foot on the gas
Put it in sport, Make this bitch do the dash
Dropped a few tunes, Now my life moving fast
This shit ain't for weak, only strongest will last
I been en route on pursuit for the cash, ain't breaking bad but I cook in the lab, cook up some dope off a pen and a pad
It's marathon, Preach to my niggas like Farrakhan
Focused on goals tell her carry on, lock in with yourself build your mom a home
Nieces and nephew that's counting on
OG raised me in the terror dome
Focused motion I been in a zone
Plan of action and attack my goals
They used to look down on us
Now they surrounding us, following hounding us, asking us why we just don't come around as much
We went and collected the bag, now we spend our free time just flying and counting up
Can't be concerned with who mad, we got us a stable of 10s yeah we rounded up
Look they mad at the glow up, like wtf
Incomprehensible, faces all frowning up
We hurt all of they lil feelings cause making a couple of bands really ain't enough
Enjoying the fruits of our labor now, I'll see y'all later now
She slipped me a note up under the table now, gave me her number and told me to meet her out by the elevator, want me to elevate her fore I take her down

She lost in the life now
Caught up in the hype
Look like she addicted to it
Look like I'm her type
She doin the most now
She ain't livin right
Got herself some gasolina
She just need a light

Next door to Canada, trapped in the snow like I'm Santa Clause
The voice make her panties moist, making her sing like Diana Ross
Like I don't want it , I don't need it
She a baddie, She conceited
She call me Michael, when I beat it
Take her higher, we get weeded
Backwoods out in Beverly Stills
In something more scary than Amityville
And my head way up in the canopy still
I'm barely gripping this grain on the wheel
But I can maneuver that Rolly for real
Now some call it talent and some call it skill
Can call it whatever I'm shining for real
Just call me a KING I'm on top of the hill
Yeah
And that shit was earned we put time in the field yeah
Top of the hill yeah, went thru the field
When they know all your lyrics
It's no better feeling, It's something that money can't buy, ain't no stealing it
She glowing under my aura, there ain't no concealing it
Baby everybody got a lil trauma, hit the blunt and start healing it

Written by:
Edric McDaniel, Christopher Vasquez, Michael Brown

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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