"No Way" as written by and John Jackson Jason Phillips.
You ain't never count paper 'til your thumbs hurt
You ain't never had to make do wit' bum work
Shit ain't comin' back, you get delirious
It's a drought in the streets, shit is serious
My 'migo got locks in the city mud
Back against the wall and I need a plug
Flew the fam to the game, Cavs verse the Heat
I had twenty thousand grams just last week
Shit stopped comin', bills keep comin' 'round
Holdin' on my last bird, 'bout to break it down
Charged a higher out of town, then I went in Brooklyn
Phone blowin' up, the homies ask "how it's lookin'?"
You think if I had the work
I wouldn't call you to sell it, you fuckin' jerk
Start gettin' mad, talkin' out of frustration
In the game, six figures can easily turn to Nathan
Damn, I'm hot, dog
The fork on the Masi grill pickin' up gwop, dog
Bought a white house off of blocks dog
In the presidential, watch me go to the top, dog

Man, I got that glow
I done came off nothin' to motherfuckin' floor
Couple niggas be hatin', I just be like, 'So?'
I don't ever get mad, I just get that doe
If the shit get bad, then I let that go

You do it 'cause you have to, I do it 'cause I could
And this is all factual, I do it for the hood
Cock the four, cop and go
'Cause these drugs are for sale, they are not for show
Keep a eye on the monitors and lock the doors
No comprende unless it's 'bout lots of dough
They love it, they still want it, the block is still haunted
Turbo in the garage, the cover is still on it
Hundred bundles by 9AM, is a ill mornin'
A nigga lookin' good, the bitches is still on him
Money, power, mega respect
Al-Qaeda is how I got the montega connect
If that paper ain't right, they put the K to your neck
Give your family a visit, they send your baby a threat
A lil' deeper than the repercussions on the block
But that all bein' said, is you hustler or not?

Man, I got that glow
I done came off nothin' to motherfuckin' floor
Couple niggas be hatin', I just be like, 'So?'
I don't ever get mad, I just get that doe
If the shit get bad, then I let that go

I don't get mad, I get dough, I get bags and get low
Everybody wit' me good, my bitch bad as shit though
You get gas, you Citgo, we whip ass, we Klitschko
It gets bad or shit slow, we really with the shits, bro
Twist your cap for it, kinda sick what the thirst do
When I'm hungry, I ain't myself, Snicker commercial
I got to eat before a nigga catch a attitude,
And start lookin' at the game like it's platter food
Fuck sandwiches, I want the chips and dip
Whips are quick, Contours, seats grips the hip
That's 63 talk, at least a hundred grand to understand
They put me on a flyer for twenty, I'm a wanted man
Son of Sam, I was born in '77
Your bitch a late-night Slurpee, She 7/11
Yeah, the family, so you gotta love it
I'm the boss, so I got it covered

Man, I got that glow
I done came off nothin' to motherfuckin' floor
Couple niggas be hatin', I just be like, 'So?'
I don't ever get mad, I just get that doe
If the shit get bad, then I let that go


Lyrics submitted by 4th Ave

"Do Me No Favors" as written by John Jackson Jason Phillips

Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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