3rdworldsound
John Polanco
SPARKJUNIOR
Текст песни
Is it real?
Where we raised at
Yankees play at
Make sure they play that
3rd world we be that fucking sound
Won’t fill up your cages
Know some wit murders
And Know Some wit gun cases
Lost some my dogs hating
Acting like some A list
Don’t know what your pain is
Only work to make it
Life book what your page is?
Collapsed my lung vaping
Roll up a dub face it
I’m gonna go places
I’m gonna go places
Plus I know that you’re crazy
If I’m not on on your playlist
Talent wasted
I Can’t say I learned patience
Wit My girl, the temptations
Long distance relation
Paranoid Cover the camera on my Mac
A savage boy with niggas chicks I hope karma don’t strike him back
Stuck In a crazy world it’s really hard to say whats what
Or what sane is
Fuck so many bitches that I can’t remember names, shit
Fuck, excuse me women aye that just the shit the game did
I’m Still tryna change it
Rolling like I’m bowling hit the bowl when ain’t no paper
I been there a lot target the gutter that’s my lane bitch
Things I gotta snap about
We know bout having low amounts
And negatives in bank accounts
Working cus if you sitting in bitch, ain’t no fucking way you standing out
Where we raised at
Yankees play at
Make sure they play that
3rd world we be that fucking sound
Where we raised at
Yankees play at
Make sure they play that
3rd world we be that, sound
Airplane mode nigga high it’s lit
On my phone when I write my hits
Askin Fo what you think bout this?
Poem, Imma take it on the road
I been broke tryna get my fix
Weed and hoes needing those
I know if we lay it ain’t cus of my chips
Finding, what’s important to me but like dory forget
Got it all I’m blessed
Story didn’t begin with ends
Pops had a couple spots, a few Benz
Had a big cell mom call he wouldn’t answer
Drove Lambos shoulda had a mansion
But he was buggin at her temple with a handgun
Won’t meet granddaughter won’t teach grandson
Only reason we ain’t dead
Cus the clip dropped, bullets spread
That was his flop and he fled
I’m not gonna quit
Till I’m not in the red
Mill zipped locked in a bag
A big drop couple cribs
Gotta go prove what I said
Standing on my 2 legs
Change my view wit my pen
Wit the hip hop, take it to the tip top
Only way this shit stop, when he dead
(woah)
Where we raised at
Yankees play at
Make sure they play that
3rd world we be that fucking sound
Where we raised at
Yankees play at
Make sure they play that
3rd world we be that, sound
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