Babyface Ray - Rap Politics lyrics

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

A hustler going corporate (For real)
Preparation prevent poor performance
Pray my karma
It don't come back on my daughters
Ho say she lit up from them cribs
Just bring some water labels sending deals
But I keep turning down they offers
It ain't bout the money can't
Put that in my coffin
I got the clerk confused, I'm buying cups
No coffee i'm the chosen one, frozen up
I did Hutch and Golden Sun
Got my coins up, like Temple Run
Must not know 'bout Yodе run
Must not know 'bout Randy's son
Wavy boy, the one who ran it up
Ain't signing shit
'til they put my family up (For rеal)
I won't crack a smile until
I'm puttin' Grammy's up
You just touched your first hunnid?
That's goin' bad to us
You a friend of me, or enemy?
Don't waste your time try adding me
Want these kicks, gotta wait a week
Custom Goyard baggage me
Sorry, but I'm fuckin' fans
Bad bitches keep taggin' me old niggas
They're sending threats to me 'cause
They ain't next to me bitch niggas
They think I owe them something
But ain't invest in me
They keep on talking twenty K
Decline respectfully
Call my phone back-to back
Them Bamas got a check for me
You can tell I never had shit
I'm driving 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
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into

From in these streets, to industry
Can't let codeine finish me
Don't let old friends that I cut
Off tell you that we're enemies
All these hoes backstage tryna fuck
Must think it's ten of me diamonds flashing
Boxes gettin' wrapped up I'm a Christmas tree
Rule number one, It ain't no postin'
And ain't no kissin' me
Rule number two, don't tell my business
That's gon' get you cut gotta watch my back
I sent the driver just to pick her up
Y'all know I'm a tipper, paid a thousand
Just to get the cut
I just damn near set the club on fire
Bottles lit it up this shit ain't for you
If you fall off and you can't get back up
(yeah) lately, I ain't gotta say too much
To get your bitch to fuck
Brodie I got flavors, for occasions, 'Face
We kitted up (yeah)
Thirty-somethin' racks later
OD camp done did it up
Money low? Then get it up
Need a load? Come get with us
Hoes choose to swap it with my brodie
That ain't shit to us
I'm in London, say she like my accent
Got the sprinter stuck
Eating beans, keepin' lean with me
Say she never seen fifty
My rich homeboy say how much
To bring with him
I love that bitch, man, I can't lie
But never seen with her
Got 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