A.V.
reTIreMEnt: THE ALBUM (01/22) ALL DSPs
Wrote this last night. Late addition to both #TheAVEP & #TheAVLP: I'm MAYOR (#IgnoreMyMusicAtYourOwnRisk)
Gonna drop the EP in a few days. @koven black ball THIS, you little fakkit
Gonna drop the EP in a few days. @koven black ball THIS, you little fakkit
LYRICS:
HOOK:
I think ya time is up, and you should wait a minute...
Ya shyt be sounding sus, heard you been fakin wit it...
Boy I be lit like matches, yo bytch ain't committed...
U know dat p*ssy fire, so I stayed up in it...
They say I'm quiet now...Truthfully, I been hidin out...
I ain't on the scene, I'm inside a house. Whippin white bytches, up in high amounts.
Now the plot thickens. Gettin hired's out. Stuck inside the cycle, on a wider route.
VERSE ONE:
Not a straight and narrow, you a choir mouse. So what the fukk is YOU cryin bout?
Is takin fed chances by the ounce, the only way you puttin food inside ya mouth?
Duckin new indictments, gun inside the couch. Stayin up at night, hearin sirens out?
Nah, countin racks...sippin dirty, fukkin bad bytches, all your lifes about.
You a rap nikka...? Maaaan, look at these rap, nikkas...
Instathuggin...Snap trappin...Help em write it. They say too much and get theyself indicted.
Touchin work, for them cameras nikka? Gang, gang, witta hammer, nikka?
My advice, since you'ont give a fukk...Kill yaself & bring ya camera witcha...
My nikkas? Got a plan. Coppin grams, but ain't gotta 'Gram.
Drummin like Contra, for contraband. Scammin vics, like “it's not a scam.”
Your squad? Not a chance.Video shoot, takin shots at cams...
Twitter fingers turn to trigger fingers...But all I see is a lotta hands.
Gave my life away in G.P...4 years, that was EASY.
Sliced a nikka over Keefee; shyt got harder after they released me.
Never did a day up in no P.C., but nowadays, the game is so P.C.
See, the way these nikkas wildlin for the fame, might as well be suckin dikk for retweets.
Cold War...Stalin (Stylin) on em since, '04...Don't wanna hear these nikkas NO more,
I might shoot a rapper then go hit a lick, and do my OWN tour.
This rap shyt, like the Clone Wars...Bite ya style, like they OWN yours.
p*ssy nikkas...Make me laugh. A pimp who fall in love with known whores?
Gad, damn...These goofy nikkas really talkin down like...
They got the SOUND, sound, sound, but that don't sound right...
How you mislead em, and cheat em? nikka yeen even right...
All them songs that made you HOT, nikka yeen even WRITE!
HOOK
VERSE TWO:
I'm on fire now....Active warrants, lawyers hired now.
And I just had to drop 17, to get outta jail, I'ma ride this bytch, til the tires out.Now the plot thickens. Gettin hired's out. Stuck inside the cycle, on a wider route.
VERSE ONE:
Not a straight and narrow, you a choir mouse. So what the fukk is YOU cryin bout?
Is takin fed chances by the ounce, the only way you puttin food inside ya mouth?
Duckin new indictments, gun inside the couch. Stayin up at night, hearin sirens out?
Nah, countin racks...sippin dirty, fukkin bad bytches, all your lifes about.
You a rap nikka...? Maaaan, look at these rap, nikkas...
Instathuggin...Snap trappin...Help em write it. They say too much and get theyself indicted.
Touchin work, for them cameras nikka? Gang, gang, witta hammer, nikka?
My advice, since you'ont give a fukk...Kill yaself & bring ya camera witcha...
My nikkas? Got a plan. Coppin grams, but ain't gotta 'Gram.
Drummin like Contra, for contraband. Scammin vics, like “it's not a scam.”
Your squad? Not a chance.Video shoot, takin shots at cams...
Twitter fingers turn to trigger fingers...But all I see is a lotta hands.
Gave my life away in G.P...4 years, that was EASY.
Sliced a nikka over Keefee; shyt got harder after they released me.
Never did a day up in no P.C., but nowadays, the game is so P.C.
See, the way these nikkas wildlin for the fame, might as well be suckin dikk for retweets.
Cold War...Stalin (Stylin) on em since, '04...Don't wanna hear these nikkas NO more,
I might shoot a rapper then go hit a lick, and do my OWN tour.
This rap shyt, like the Clone Wars...Bite ya style, like they OWN yours.
p*ssy nikkas...Make me laugh. A pimp who fall in love with known whores?
Gad, damn...These goofy nikkas really talkin down like...
They got the SOUND, sound, sound, but that don't sound right...
How you mislead em, and cheat em? nikka yeen even right...
All them songs that made you HOT, nikka yeen even WRITE!
HOOK
VERSE TWO:
I'm on fire now....Active warrants, lawyers hired now.
Ask me why, and you can find it out...My paperwork here, deny ya doubt...
They said a nikka had dem CHOPPAS....But I don't know, what they lyin bout!
And lately...I stay on my "Donovan". Play outta pocket, but this game, I gotta win.
Facing a lot, but its saying a lot, when you don't say a lot; you just pay em to politic.
Prayin to God, I been slayin a thot again. Life is a bytch, but i'm staying monogamous.
Swallow my pride, tryna stay on some conscious shyt. Don't give a fukk bout a hater hypothesis.
NEVER...So fukk you, and fukk everybody you came wit.
If you ask me when I sober up, I'ma STILL tell you the same shyt.
Record labels...? NO SIR. My plug?...Speed Dial.
Won't settle for a slave deal. I'd rather quit rap, just to beat trial.
fukk a freestyle...fukk nikka...Copy that...These clowns...
Michael Jackson...Smooth Criminal. Everybody on lean now.
Everybody wanna sing now...Whatever happened to hip-hop?
Whatever happened to tagging or not doing fakkit shyt, when your shyt drop?
They fake Bloods, or they fake Crips. Fake booty on they fake bytch.
Fake rappers, wit a fake life, it ain't hating, if a nikka hate fake, shyt...
Fans know it, and don't say shyt. They wishy washy and complacent.
Translation: If you make hits, you can do whatever, but I ain't shytiiiiit? (NAH!)
They said a nikka had dem CHOPPAS....But I don't know, what they lyin bout!
And lately...I stay on my "Donovan". Play outta pocket, but this game, I gotta win.
Facing a lot, but its saying a lot, when you don't say a lot; you just pay em to politic.
Prayin to God, I been slayin a thot again. Life is a bytch, but i'm staying monogamous.
Swallow my pride, tryna stay on some conscious shyt. Don't give a fukk bout a hater hypothesis.
NEVER...So fukk you, and fukk everybody you came wit.
If you ask me when I sober up, I'ma STILL tell you the same shyt.
Record labels...? NO SIR. My plug?...Speed Dial.
Won't settle for a slave deal. I'd rather quit rap, just to beat trial.
fukk a freestyle...fukk nikka...Copy that...These clowns...
Michael Jackson...Smooth Criminal. Everybody on lean now.
Everybody wanna sing now...Whatever happened to hip-hop?
Whatever happened to tagging or not doing fakkit shyt, when your shyt drop?
They fake Bloods, or they fake Crips. Fake booty on they fake bytch.
Fake rappers, wit a fake life, it ain't hating, if a nikka hate fake, shyt...
Fans know it, and don't say shyt. They wishy washy and complacent.
Translation: If you make hits, you can do whatever, but I ain't shytiiiiit? (NAH!)
MORE FROM THE ALBUM, OUT AUGUST:
fukk VIEWS, APRIL 29TH, NEW YORK BREHS COME fukk WIT ME AT LION'S DEN IN BROOKLYN
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this is your best song yet 
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