Gratitude

LYRICS

(CHORUS)

they say, that I’m slowly going bad
they say, that imma never make the grad
they say, that imma never make it out of here
fuck what they say, man imma get this money


(Verse 1)
fuck what the say, you smoke me i blow it away
I’m tired of playing these games, think of another nigga to play, I’m feeling much better each day, even if i don’t smoke it away, theres always room for improvement, but be sure ill do it my way

whats it take to go far, a nice car and some good cars, that’ll help you climb to the summit
Independence what you want from it, riches and bitches, from rags and those stitches, you want it go get, no loans in my interest
Even if it’s not a word I’m the littest, and I’m always down to handle my business 

When I walk in the building, heads boppin up to the ceiling, ain’t nothing top up on this feelin, even if a nice bitch with a fat ass and fat blunt, but some class was laying up in my whip and, I wouldn’t trade this for no vixen, wont let a nigga come fuck up my vision 

It’s a place that I depict myself being in the future, releasing a anthem with future, have my own limo with a funny driver ain’t no need for no uber, all the signs be conclusive, that I’m coming for it and you can’t ignore it, unless you friending that sutra 


they say, that I’m slowly going bad
they say, that imma never make the grad
they say, that imma never make it out of here
fuck what they say, man imma get this money

(Verse 2) 
Your cautious in the movement, you want to be included, you want the spotlight so you breaking out, your mind consumed then, nah I want to sit down with crew and smoke the finest the Cubans, then freak with an Hispanic human, since I’m throwing deuces

To my worries and my problems, now someone else caught em, it’s the nigga that used to live in me, the source of the prophet, I been waiting way long to break out of the cycle, nas was first , write my psalms, simple as an etch and sketch, but I think I could write a bible

Got a mob of disciples, who fuck wit me, and got my back, black and white like Michael, get so high together that we sitting on the Eiffel, red eyed in the hazel smoke, you know when we coming through we way to loud, 

Like we never mindful, we never have to stifle, or to say we own them rifles, coz hey throw up signs, I spit the rhymes, no longer niggas feeling fightful, and you know I’d mash a nigga but I will never be so spiteful

Blessed

Racka Chachi

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