Errthang Valid Songtext
von Smoke DZA
Errthang Valid Songtext
Harlem world dealt me so I′m valid
Chillin' in my purple palace in my Palace skate gear
Same year I was climbin′ up the chart
Got bored with the game full of ladders cause there's snakes there
Bruh I had to have it, game was rappin' average
I′m a father to these bastards, I should claim them on my taxes
Bunch of fuckin′ mini-me's, you just stuntin′ like your daddy
You know they say, cats who run they mouth the loudest run the fastest lord
You don't wanna get embarrassed lord
Cause my nigga′s with the static lord
Pullin' out the automatic
All this malice in Manhattan and your status based on madness, boy
Who the nigga put you niggas on the swaggin′?
Who the nigga stylin' killin' fashion with no stylist?
Whoe the pretty nigga smilin′ gold teeth, no medallion?
I can hit south of park, Mike Trout when I′m battin' boy
It′s cool, you can roll up right here
Live life like you don't have a care
Champagne like every day′s New Year's
That′s on deck over here
Everything valid (valid, valid)
Everything valid (valid, valid)
Everything valid (valid, valid)
Kush god, I'm a hot nigga
Fuck with Snoop Dogg with the pot, nigga
Shout out to Uncle Snoop from up top, nigga
Really fuckin' cool we got it locked nigga
Everything valid
Brand new passport, the old one tatted
Cup runneth over, PJ in the chalice
Life is too good, not a bit of malice
Harlem get the money, [?] life forever
Dice game poppin′, what′s in the bank, whatever
Hoppin' out [?], snackin′ on buchetta
I'm in [?] so much they know my order before I said it
Ma say I′m off the Richter
I'm in the panorama takin′ panoramic pictures
Travel across the globe gettin' paid off my scriptures
Everybody eatin'
Extra chicken, hold the fixins
Listen, everything is valid
40 cal, trigger finger got the callus
I got style, I′m stylin′ no stylist
Clothes from France, French dressin' no salad
SK, AK yeah I be bustin′ those things
Fifty keys, new cars, touchin' those things
Bad bitches and money, in love with those things
Blue cheese on the ranch, no buffalo wings
Shit, that probably went over your head
I tear your whole loaf off, over this bread
And you know I don′t like lames
I've been gettin′ it before there was a bike lane
Chillin' in my purple palace in my Palace skate gear
Same year I was climbin′ up the chart
Got bored with the game full of ladders cause there's snakes there
Bruh I had to have it, game was rappin' average
I′m a father to these bastards, I should claim them on my taxes
Bunch of fuckin′ mini-me's, you just stuntin′ like your daddy
You know they say, cats who run they mouth the loudest run the fastest lord
You don't wanna get embarrassed lord
Cause my nigga′s with the static lord
Pullin' out the automatic
All this malice in Manhattan and your status based on madness, boy
Who the nigga put you niggas on the swaggin′?
Who the nigga stylin' killin' fashion with no stylist?
Whoe the pretty nigga smilin′ gold teeth, no medallion?
I can hit south of park, Mike Trout when I′m battin' boy
It′s cool, you can roll up right here
Live life like you don't have a care
Champagne like every day′s New Year's
That′s on deck over here
Everything valid (valid, valid)
Everything valid (valid, valid)
Everything valid (valid, valid)
Kush god, I'm a hot nigga
Fuck with Snoop Dogg with the pot, nigga
Shout out to Uncle Snoop from up top, nigga
Really fuckin' cool we got it locked nigga
Everything valid
Brand new passport, the old one tatted
Cup runneth over, PJ in the chalice
Life is too good, not a bit of malice
Harlem get the money, [?] life forever
Dice game poppin′, what′s in the bank, whatever
Hoppin' out [?], snackin′ on buchetta
I'm in [?] so much they know my order before I said it
Ma say I′m off the Richter
I'm in the panorama takin′ panoramic pictures
Travel across the globe gettin' paid off my scriptures
Everybody eatin'
Extra chicken, hold the fixins
Listen, everything is valid
40 cal, trigger finger got the callus
I got style, I′m stylin′ no stylist
Clothes from France, French dressin' no salad
SK, AK yeah I be bustin′ those things
Fifty keys, new cars, touchin' those things
Bad bitches and money, in love with those things
Blue cheese on the ranch, no buffalo wings
Shit, that probably went over your head
I tear your whole loaf off, over this bread
And you know I don′t like lames
I've been gettin′ it before there was a bike lane
Writer(s): Pompey Sean Joseph, Tucker Orlando Jahlil Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
