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作词 : R. Montgomery |
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作曲 : R. Montgomery |
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Product of the dope game |
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Mama wanted no pain, Papa wanted cocaine |
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Papa smokin' pot over the pot, over the stove flame |
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Dollar short from acquirin' no change |
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Started out with no shame, to ridin' 'round in Mulsanne |
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Tolerance high, feel no pain |
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Cotton mouth with thots who got the code names |
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I remember nodding' out, too high, just watchin' Soul Train |
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Now I'm yachtin' out the boat brain |
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Hunnid thousand dollar gold chain |
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Wife done got too pricey for a Cadillac |
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Too icy to be fightin', too godly for a battle rap |
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Too nice to be in cyphers, too deep for moderation |
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Too free for exoneration and seekin' validation |
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Young, black, receivin' salutations |
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Product of the dope game |
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Mama wanted no pain, Papa wanted cocaine |
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Papa smokin' pot over the pot, over the stove flame |
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Flyer than the sky, I am the pilot of the soul plane |
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Writer of the 'pyro, I was a writer way before fame |
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All y'all dudes is cyber, I come from the bottom right by the soil where the rose came |
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I'm too private to try to expose lames |
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And I'm too violent to be ridin' with those thangs |
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I'm too shady to be neutral, these artists try to divide us |
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If I go Kendrick Lamar, the world gon' watch the "Control" change |
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I'm way too vicious to ask for my respect |
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I'm way too Michelin for the dissin', man, listen |
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Even mindin' my business I deal with entire sets |
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Always on time to collect, like the IRS |
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Product of the dope game |
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Nostril full of cocaine |
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Violence over dyin' over war games |
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Die here and get choked, lames |
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Die here in the choke chains |
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Advise you in the full, mane, Siamese, your whole frame |
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How can I be washed? I'm havin' shooter, rifle thoughts |
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Suicidal thoughts, I should be writin' these rhymes in the diary of Cobain |
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Beat him 'til his Bible lost |
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Beat him 'til he dies and then beat his body 'til we revive 'em and then his pulse came |
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Where I come from, I tell the jokes and you the joke |
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Where I come from, I sell the dope, you do the dope |
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My brethren, I'm not a legend, I'm not a vet |
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Do not address me as second, I'm the best |
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I Don't Age by Royce Da 5'9" |
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They say you are what you eat, but I never ate goat |
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I went from straight poor to shoppin' malls |
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And Wraiths blowin' gray smoke |
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Dialed in like conference calls |
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Strapped up like Waco |
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Playin' Hov, Friend or Foe |
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Lost friends like Ross and Rachel |
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In the road, big bro was a criminal |
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Give you L's, gimme O's |
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The only thing that look good on paper to me is Benji's, ho |
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My sobriety's been more faithful to me than these hoes |
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Never compromisin' my intellect for the Internet |
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Dissin' these goals in the Rolls |
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How the **** is Nickel Nine a yes-man? |
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When 24/7, I stay in the know |
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'Fore I hold a grudge, I take a flight to Paris |
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'Fore I spill blood, I drink a pint of theirs |
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I don't age |
