Vic Spencer & August Fanon - Psychiatric Advice
Ahhh, shit, fuckI can't wait to get the fuck out of here
Fuck
Shit
Nowadays I don't say shit
Let the work show, earth blow with the cake mix
Finna whip it up, finna get the truck plush
From the automatic you really feel a rush
Stuck on reality, stack up the blunts call it wrapped up celery
I disturb Beverly
Neighborhood looking for better days
Forever paid, make sure my bay hair is laid
See the sights, we don't need the lights we getting hitched up
One sec, the lining getting fixed up
The rhyming getting stitched up, the timing all rigged up
The mind would have you lynched, up the grind what make me get up
Big bucks in my dreams green dollar folder
Buy a lot of shit I never been in Kroger
Niggas was downtown breezing rovers
Still get high on Michigan Ave leave a odor
Still ponder on them all way hallways
Rubber grip street wear with the bald fade
Had the knife in the five pocket girbauds
Back in the the days Phillies looked like egg roll
Big ass maze it's a phase to ever step to me
Go to door number one you still need an extra key
Kick the next door in I seen 300,000 grams
So high I'm never sobering
Speed up the pace need to get outta my face
Niggas be calling the Jakes, make a lot niggas anti up for your wake
Stay by the lake niggas is fake front of the gun Potatoes is baked
Sour cream with the chives, I'm the best rapper alive
Baby told me I taste good while I'm high, really be up in the sky
Blunt bout the size of a skillet, handle a nigga always be fried let me give you advice
Always stay one up on niggas
Always stay one up on niggas
Always stay one up on niggas
Always stay one up on niggas
That's life
I'm taking that advice to the grave
Written by:
Victor Spencer
Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Lyrics powered by Lyric Find
