Grassroot Camp - Lotus

Neck aching
It ain't easy boy its back breaking
Head aching
Increasing my respiration
From a generation
That worked too hard for a lil
Just to see you take it
Bout that action
Today I'll be the best me
Tomorrow I'll surpass it
With made men
While I see the men you with plastic
Hustled all night
Just as long as it ain't backwards
Posted with some real ones
Some stoners
Some bastard niggas
Aye you heard of who
Naw I don't fuck with them niggas
And put no true in indecision
Clock my digits
And don't chase women
I don't chase dreams
Im manifesting
And I'm not acting
It's no Jim Carey
It's tough
You lean on me
Im squat pressing
You want to rock
You wanna roll
I'm Elvis Presley
Repetition that's what got me progressing
I took my L's
And made em lessons
Now they blessings
Aye I Keep it M O E
Mental Ova Everything
I'm to my pedigree
My dawgs looking up to me
A big boss man
Yeah I'm known to handle things
The forty on me if a nigga try to handle me
That thang up in the trunk
My city like the Shires
Im skirting off in 550
You hear them tires
These bitches crying
But really they conspiring
Tying to get up in my wires
Like actresses for hire
But fuck it
Im with my mans trying build a plan
We in the lab
See the day out to day in
Im out the mud
A reputable young man
A Southside thugging
Young nigga busting
It's a bet that we gone keep the bag coming in
On that sav shit
Yeah I had to set the trend
On rad shit
I ain't even need no pen
Fuck a friend
I'll be by my lonely in the end
Living a prominent lifestyle
Focused on the future
Walking for what I believe in
Martin Luther
Advanced
Im passed computers
These shooters could never catch me
No baton
But I'm gone
I ran the game like a track meet
You can say I'll never make it there
You'll just never make since
No Uncle Phil
Big banks
Im like a Fresh Prince living my city
So they hollering where the dollars at
No calling back
Wrong man cross is path
Velcro he probably strapped
Things ain't adding up
Told em do the proper math
Prada bag round my chick arm
Cost a lot of cash
Lot of fuel
Lot of gas
Lot of work its time to bag
Gettin money
All my hustle
Nah ain't got time to brag
You can do it all day
Never will amount to half
Counting cash everything I wanted
Im bout to have
Hit my city
Tell em I got signed like autograph
Baller stat
Now ya boy fresher than a laundry mat
Call a cab
You ain't got the drive
Like you caught a flat
Say that you scoring
Act foul
Watch em call it back
Everything I spit is dope
Bag it up
Call it crack
Sell it to the feigns
I guarantee that they'll be calling back

Written by:
Joshua Brown, Michael powers jr, Turner Miller

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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