Boldy James and Futurewave - Could Be Worse

Ay

They call me Rocky Rhodes, over the Viking stove I'm icy cold
Like a peg-leg pirate, dope in the Pyrex
Soon as I cut the pilot on, time to turn up the temp
Six hundred degrees like that dreadhead from Hollygrove
Went from performin' in kitchens live to rockin' shows
Coppin' from the Coney, now we swappin' out at Pappadeauxs
Thirty in the morning, grittin' with a snotty nose
Big forty on me, I'm the wrong nigga to pick on
Heard they tippin' on me, must've heard I got them bricks gone
Worker turned informant, had to dump all of my flip phones
Cup full of poison, I'm the real Jim Jones
Me and Finn still on the Hell in the fire and brimstone
Jeans reekin', kerosene from the space heater
Ball cap, waist length mink and some Timbs on
Or with these bullshit Balenciaga play sneakers
Thuggin' in the 'jects, half a milli' worth of gems on

'Cause when the goin' get tough, pick up and hit the road
Who the fuck can I trust? Who can I depend on?
Bad bitch strapped down with a brick and a half
Her ass lookin' saggy like she got Depends on
Had to make sure it was that before we sent the work
Just pray to Lord we make it back, can't risk me gettin' searched
And if you try to double back before we flip the merch
Just put a little in the baggie, little in the purse

Your mans got you baggin' up? It could be worse
Just put a little in the baggie, put a little in the purse
Just put a little in the baggie, put a little in the purse

I'm half mani, half eighty-milligram oxy
Three hundred racks annually, that's fifty bands monthly
In the hicks, bogartin' like your mans Humphrey
Loadin' up on 'codones and jeans, we be pants-huntin'
Whippin' up in Polish Springs, got them grams jumpin'
Fam dumpin', ninety in two days, got my hands crampin'
Thumbin' through them Peewee Longways and them Young Lays
Ain't how hat nigga damaged, blinded in the sun rays?
Broad day'll turn a nigga to a Sun Chip
Or chip a nigga for my gang with them drumsticks
Leave a nigga mouth redder than some Fun Dip
Shoot outta town and pour a eight up in a Sunkist

'Cause when the goin' get tough, pick up and hit the road
Who the fuck can I trust? Who can I depend on?
Bad bitch strapped down with a brick and a half
Her ass lookin' saggy like she got Depends on
Had to make sure it was that before we sent the work
Just pray to Lord we make it back, can't risk me gettin' searched
And if he try to double back before we flip the merch
Just put a little in the baggie, little in the purse

Your mans got you baggin' up? It could be worse
Just put a little in the baggie, put a little in the purse
Just put a little in the baggie, put a little in the purse

Ooh, my love
(Ooh)
(Ooh)
(Ooh)
(Ooh)
I'm told that you are a dangerous man, Arturo
I like that
It excites me

Written by:
James Clay Jones III, Martin Budik

Publisher:
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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