André DeSaint, Hell’z OWN - Grain, Pt. 3 lyrics

Ain’t a thing gonna move unless
They speak to me if this was ’88
I would be writing raps for Eazy-E
Every day I’m better than my last
There ain’t no peak in me
Running with my style
I’m about to send them boys a C&D
You fall faster than you climb
I’ve seen it happen easily
Momma used to worry about the things
My Pops was teaching me
The only thing I learned
Was stay in character, keep it G
I thrive in the darkest hours
It provided peace for me
They’re saying it ain’t real unless you do
It for the streets to see
Praying I don’t gotta live a
Life that’s fillеd with secrecy
I don’t think any girl in my
City is a reach for mе
Catch me in Miami trying to
Find out where Caresha be
Uh, I’m taking all of this
Before I call it quit's
I’ve been jamming mumble rap ‘cause fuck
It we can all exist
Long talking? Never the case
You be at the table talking ‘till
You’re red in the face
You should call The Smiths
The most unknown spitting and killing
Shit as long as this
You’re looking at the top ten
You’re gonna need a longer list
Whole lot of noise and emotion look
How they ball their fists
But bring my name up and look around
And see how calm it gets
The skies are looking ominous
Honestly don’t test me
I’ve never been the type to explain
If they don’t get me
She tells me everything
Except that she won’t let me
We’re on that XXX shit sipping on Dos Equis
DeSaint

I did the math on the site
Counting cash on a flight
Illuminate the dash, hit the gas
Then I blast on the night
I got it for the low so you know
I had to tax on the price
Black with the white
Grey skies is at abundance
The Rollie old but the face is custom
Ain’t never ticking, luck stricken
Not politicking no subjects
Ya’ll pillow talking with bitches
And telling them everything about
All of your operations
Then you wonder how the Feds
Got a 98% on conviction
The rate is the high, the buy is the low
The play is get mine
A player gonna shine through
Rain, sleet, hail, or snow
E320 with at least three semis
Up in that motherfucker
Nine by nineteen and two twenties I
Told you I’m a hustler
Road runner, burn rubber
Flow’s butter, cold brother
Rolling stone with no home just for
The night with no covers
Back out by the AM to get
More before I blow bud up
And hit the highway and say
A prayer against these bloodsuckers