Babyface Ray - Rap Politics

Yeah (yeah)
Yeah (yeah)
I can
Laugh on, motherfuckers
I ain't gonna say that shit

I got ten black cars at the venue (yeah, yeah)
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

A hustler goin' corporate (for real)
Grab the race, prevent poor performance
Pray my karma, it don't come back on my daughters
Oh, shit lit up from the cribs, just bring some water
Labels sendin' deals, but I keep turnin' down they offers (straight up)
It ain't 'bout the money, can't put that in my coffin (nah)
I got the clerk confused, I'm buyin' 'cause I'm coughin'

I'm the chosen one, frozen up, I did her, she ain't go to somethin'
Got my coins up like Temple Run, must not know 'bout yo the run
Must not know 'bout Randy's son, baby boy, the one who ran it up
Ain't signin' shit until they put my family up (For real)
I won't crack a smile until I'm puttin' Grammys up
You just taxed your first hundred, that's doin' bad to us
You a frenemy or an enemy? Don't waste your time tryin' addin' me (nah)
Why these kids gotta wait a week? Custom Goyard baggaged me
Sorry, but I'm fuckin' fans, bad bitches keep taggin' me
Ho niggas, they sendin' threats to me, 'cause they ain't next to me (phew)
Bitch niggas that think y'all owe him somethin', but I ain't invest in me
They keep on talkin', twenty K declined respectfully
Bought my phone back to back, bag must got a check for me
You can tell I never had shit, I'm drivin' recklessly

I got ten black cars at the venue
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into (mmm-mmm)
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into (I don't rap politic, nigga, haha, yeah)

From in these streets to industry (Haha), can't let codeine finish me (no)
Don't let old friends that I cut off tell you that we enemies (that's lame)
All these hoes backstage, tryna fuck, must think it's ten of me (come on)
Diamonds flashin', boxes gettin' wrapped up, I'm a Christmas tree
Rule number one, it ain't no post and ain't no kissin' me
Rule number two, don't tell my business, that's what get you cut
Gotta watch my back, I sent the driver just to pick her up
Y'all know I'm a tripper, pay the thousand just to get the cut
I damn near just set the club on fire, bottles litted up (trippin')

This shit ain't for you, if you fall off, you can't get back up (yeah)
Baby, I ain't gotta say too much to get your bitch to fuck (yeah)
Brodie, I got flavors for occasions, 'Face, we kid it up (yeah)
Thirty-somethin' racks later, Odie came, he did it up (smash)
Money load and get it up, need a low, come get with us (come on)
Hoes choose to swap in with my brodie, that ain't shit to us (bro)
I'm in London, say she like my accent, y'all just sprinter stuff
Eatin' beans, keepin' lean with me, say she never seen fifty
My rich homeboy say how much to bring with him (yeah)
I love that bitch, man, I can't lie, but never seen with her (mmm-mmm)
Yeah, my jeans stuffed, this shit too much, gon' bust the seams in it

I got ten black cars at the venue
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into

Written by:
Marcellus Register

Publisher:
Lyrics © Songtrust Ave

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