Ea$y Money, Joey Bada$$, Wais P, Rob Wh!Te - Connected lyrics

Ayo in the same city BIG screen
Chasing paper the same color as the c’s team
No matter where I’m at on
The map I bleed green
Whole clique got dry skin we need cream
Was on them streets eager to
Make the gatts warmer
They told me I’d be much
Better as a rap performer
Getting hype on them tracks than
On them crack corners
Because cops will put mics on your
Back on rat on ya
Getting your weight up feens
You slinging death too
No you getting your weight you
In the rec room
Hitting them sets wishing that
You could jet soon
May come around you ain’t going
Home till next June
Go ahead keep scrambling for pennies
Imma do this rap till they
Hand over the benji’s
Enough talk about you handling a semi
We know ain’t no tucking them
Hammer in them skinnys

Don’t ask me both no rappers
Cus I don’t know no rappers
All these live niggas with me about
They business nigga no actor’s
We ghost busters soul snatchers
Put cheese on yo ham
Motherfucker yeah gold packets
Got bad table manners wave toast at ya
Fuck etiquette when it’s predicate
Get resident evil for dead presidents
People gloves on lover letter my eagle
And I can make the pelican
Fly I’m text my people
I still got the work you
Want it come Holla fam
I’m talking coke prices the port
As hot as gram you can get it by the
Gram still getting blow off
Till static call me to the studio to show off
Yo easy this is easy money

Imma kill these birds fuck if
They call PETA on me
Call PETA matter of fact call
The animal shelter cuz I’m
Using full length minks in
The winter for shelter
You ain’t get the memo I
Put holes in your lemo
Or you can pay what you owe and
I put holes in your memo
Wais P the pimp ya’lls niggas
Is trash receptacle rapping garbagé
Chain swing wrist dancing when the
Light shine pinky ring
In talking with my hands like It’s fuck time
Watching she buy a pimp a house shit
She gonna blow me anyways m
Ight as well put her money
Where her mouth is ha
Ten thousand on the outfit two
Hundred on the car
I ain’t a fraud come check ma garage
I’m living large I ain’t got lie to rap hard
I just live my like then I put it bars
Musical massage menagerie fanatically giving
You my reality
And I ‘all never lose battery bitch

Ooh you gotta see him from blue collar season
Now he done blew and he at the coliseum
Niggas wanna be him among supreme beings
Want a box last summer now niggas wana be him
That’s progress but the bmf
Process in not census everything not cents
Tell di bwoy dem dem can’t contest
I’m I’ll behind the bars you don’t
Know what’s on the card chest
Don’t need to take no shots to kill
A inner city nigga who faking his spot
Tell the truth these niggas
Is just chasing twat
I rise to the top like jamaican locks
Let the hating stop they can never do that
Young prodigy came back to show
You how to do rap