GG Rell3 - Right or Wrong?

I can't stay away Lord, please take this pain away
Smoke a blunt and laugh for All my niggas gone or in that cage
I can't go out sad Nigga play, we diggin' him a grave.
Want catch a hat today? Just know that beefin' never get you paid

Don't gotta drop a bag My killers get you niggas out the way
Just tryna get a bag I been up just scheming for some days
Know I can't stay away Right back in them trenches where I'm raised
Long live my brothers and the ones that stuck up in that cage

I been out the way Just tryna get that fucking bread right
Jade want me to spend some money Tryna go catch her a flight
But I'm like, fuck it, it ain't nothing Cause she treat a nigga right
They like, Rell, where you been at? Just come pop outside tonight

I can't hang around no niggas Know they snaking ain't my type
Birds of a feather flock together Niggas know that right?
When we talking about this money Blue or green, ain't got no type
I done made it out the trenches I ain't gotta keep my pipe

Right or wrong, bout my brothers?
hmm We did it all
Sixteen stuffed into my drawers I'm tryna ball like Pau Gasol
I'm on the grind just like some Vans My brothers switchy in the wall
Matter of fact, bitch, free to real They hate to see a nigga ball

Hmm, get it in Don't want talk, just get it in
My youngins spin, spin, spin Till they catch you or yo ken
Sick and tired of being dead Broke, won't do dat shit again
Said that I was done with Jade But I just hit her phone again

Plenty times I said I'm done with smoke Just lit that shit again
I just came to get some money I ain't come to get no friends
Keep on working, ain't no finish line Every day we get it in
Put my momma in that Range Rover And sister in the Benz

I been out the way Just tryna get that fuckin' bread right
Jade want me to spend some money Tryna go catch a flight
But I'm like, fuck it, it ain't nothing Cause she treat a nigga right
They like, Rell, where you been at? Just come pop outside tonight

I can't hang around no niggas Know they snakin', ain't my type
Birds of a feather flock together Niggas know that right
When we talkin' bout this money Blue or green, ain't got no type
I done made it out the trenches I ain't gotta keep my pipe

Written by:
Tyrell Lee

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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