Potter Payper - Soul Child lyrics

Getting money’s my prerogative
Gotta go out of my way to stay positive
When my lifestyle’s the opposite
Rich or poor, check the deficit, it’s obvious
When I die,  who am I, am I anonymous?
My mom and dad were just some foreigners
Tryna make it in this ghetto metropolis
I was broke when I was
Young it hurt my confidence
Now I get money, free money in my ambience
Now I’m Potter Payper with an audience
I smoke weed till I look a little Orient
Where I’m from they let the
Mac fly no Delorean
Clips in the side of the scorpion
I got brothers who deal in extortion
Only real life G’s in the forum
Jailhouse getting packs like a mormon
Devil want my soul, put 7 in
My pole, 63 in my bowl
Got a deal on the box like Noel Edmonds
Bare gun smoke for the tension
Still middle finger to the Trenton
Money have to lengthen
Deen have to strengthen
Coke in the pot still dancing like Brendan
No gyal can’t ask me question about a next
Man carh I’m too g for that
And no man can’t speak on my bredrin no way
Carh I’ll beef for that
I’m a 90’s baby I’m a soul child
I got me a princess she got no miles
Henessey and weed keep me docile
I keep hundred fiends on my mobile
I’m still gang affiliated check my profile
Indictments on me we gotta go trial
VV’s on my freestyle make you hold smile
Big man you can’t take me for no juvenile
I got teeth in this thing like a crocodile
Yeah you see him doing you well
You wanna pop him down carh he used to be a
Worker but he bossing now
Do it just plain jane watch me maintain
Bait face, with the spinner
That’s the Treyway
I Alexander my queen carh that’s my bae bae
I let my soldier watch me whip
But, I don’t nae nae
I let it and dry and hit the
Block man I don’t lay lay
More money, more pagans, I ain’t J Spades
More guns and they’re shooting
Like Dwayne Wade
Rich Dad, Poor Dad I’m tryna stay paid
So I get it in and get it gone the same day
Trafficking, business acumen
Brown tape packaging
Had me on the yard with my savages
My lifestyle’s scary like Potter
And the Basilisk
My young g’s jack your whip, slap your bitch
Grab your wrist
Shit, I put in the maddest shift
Just whip it like a masochist
For three whole years
I was sad and pissed locked up in my cell
Eating sandwiches
Penguins and a bag of crisps
I’m a fucking big man for this