Kris Kasanova, Tennille - Paperchaser lyrics
[Kris Kasanova, Tennille - Paperchaser lyrics]
Life’s short the day’s long
I’ll probably die up in my hood like Trayvon
Wait son
I’m from a block, where niggas bear arms
Like it’s 95 degrees out
Shots, and them D’s out
G’s trying to C’s what you B’s bout
Ain’t nothing, fuck you banging fo’
Oh you ain’t banging, fuck you claiming fo’
You ain’t trapping, you acting
My nigga’s first reaction, is blacking
And blasting at fourteen
My nigga had a pocket full of stones
Never met his pops mom never home
Crib full of kids, still a nigga feel alone
Got his mind up on his money
Hand upon his chrome
Other hand upon the phone
Said there’s money to be made
Life threw him lemons, he made hard lemonade
And got lifted
I always said "My nigga, you was gifted"
He said, "Money make the world go ‘round
Don’t get it twisted"
You’s a paperchaser
You got your block on fire remaining a G
‘Til the moment you expire
You know what it is
To make something outta nothing
Just handle your biz just handle your biz
New York big city of dreams
Feins got the shit looking
Like it’s New Orleans
Juvenile’s, with crack vials
In their G-Star jeans
And BG’s, with blood stains, on their new XIV
You getting money, ha
Gold chain around yo neck, ha
Got a connect, so now
You wildin’ for respect, ha
That beeper, yeah, it come wit a tec, ha
You selling pills, got em trippy
Tell em watch they step, ha
You paperchasing, ‘cause ya bills overdue
Hot Boy every summer and the winter too
Low profile, but you blowing Mystikal
Whipping up in them pots
Grandma in the living room
Didn’t finish school
‘cause you tryna chase that skrilla
In the hallways, like all day
Shit looking like it’s Thiller
Since a youngin’ you was told never to snitch
Everybody need a hit
All you gotta do is pitch
You’s a paperchaser
You got your block on fire remaining a G
‘Til the moment you expire
You know what it is
To make something outta nothing
Just handle your biz just handle your biz
I’ll probably die up in my hood like Trayvon
Wait son
I’m from a block, where niggas bear arms
Like it’s 95 degrees out
Shots, and them D’s out
G’s trying to C’s what you B’s bout
Ain’t nothing, fuck you banging fo’
Oh you ain’t banging, fuck you claiming fo’
You ain’t trapping, you acting
My nigga’s first reaction, is blacking
And blasting at fourteen
My nigga had a pocket full of stones
Never met his pops mom never home
Crib full of kids, still a nigga feel alone
Got his mind up on his money
Hand upon his chrome
Other hand upon the phone
Said there’s money to be made
Life threw him lemons, he made hard lemonade
And got lifted
I always said "My nigga, you was gifted"
He said, "Money make the world go ‘round
Don’t get it twisted"
You’s a paperchaser
You got your block on fire remaining a G
‘Til the moment you expire
You know what it is
To make something outta nothing
Just handle your biz just handle your biz
New York big city of dreams
Feins got the shit looking
Like it’s New Orleans
Juvenile’s, with crack vials
In their G-Star jeans
And BG’s, with blood stains, on their new XIV
You getting money, ha
Gold chain around yo neck, ha
Got a connect, so now
You wildin’ for respect, ha
That beeper, yeah, it come wit a tec, ha
You selling pills, got em trippy
Tell em watch they step, ha
You paperchasing, ‘cause ya bills overdue
Hot Boy every summer and the winter too
Low profile, but you blowing Mystikal
Whipping up in them pots
Grandma in the living room
Didn’t finish school
‘cause you tryna chase that skrilla
In the hallways, like all day
Shit looking like it’s Thiller
Since a youngin’ you was told never to snitch
Everybody need a hit
All you gotta do is pitch
You’s a paperchaser
You got your block on fire remaining a G
‘Til the moment you expire
You know what it is
To make something outta nothing
Just handle your biz just handle your biz