Ransom, Boldy James, Nicholas Craven, Young Chris - COLLECTION PLATES (Lyrics)

Описание: Ransom, Boldy James, Nicholas Craven, Young Chris - COLLECTION PLATES
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Ransom, Boldy James, Nicholas Craven, Young Chris - COLLECTION PLATES (Lyrics)

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Ransom:
https://www.youtube.com/results?searc...

Boldy James:
https://www.youtube.com/results?searc... James+channel

Nicholas Craven:
https://www.youtube.com/results?searc... Craven+channel

Young Chris:
https://www.youtube.com/results?searc... Chris+channel

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🎤 Lyrics: Ransom, Boldy James, Nicholas Craven, Young Chris - COLLECTION PLATES

One time for the one time
Ayy, check

Me and Ran' both did what we had to do to feed the fam
Ask my cousin Peanut, did I come up off that Peter Pan?
Don't eat no dinner on that dish before you bleach it
Fell asleep durin' church, I never listened to the preacher
They say music saved my life, maybe, really a believer
Hood flicked me with the work but I had hid it in the speaker
Think I'm headed back to jail every time I tap a beat
Gettin' better at performin', standin' at the kitchen sink
If you standin' on B-I and really have it, we should link
If you woke up broke this mornin', shouldn't have never went to sleep
Can't get mad, can see a CI, he was never in the street
Bust presi' on my wrist look like I'm finna get impeached
Reason I teach, always taught to practice what I preach
If you feed a sucker, he just grow to be a bigger leech
Niggas ain't cut, they only tough when they a million deep
If me and bro shoot him at the same time, is that a jinx?
What else?

We gon' disrespect your election date
Two bands worth of singles in the collection plate
My team tight, but we rather catch a pass than to catch a case
Damn, respect your rations and bless your plates
Our Father, please bless this food and whatever else at stake
Shaheem's in the box when he could've made it at welterweight
Rest in peace to niggas you felt was great but then fell from grace
Two bands wrapped in rubber bands in collection plates

Me and Boldy in a Suburban thumbin' three hundred grand
Nic' conjurin' them demons, this beat done summoned the Son of Sam
My tester said it's pure when it froze his gums and then numbed his hands
Granny said, "What you don't overcome, you won't understand"
Now I'm ridin' filthy, a loaded gun and a hundred grams
Got pulled over, nerves so jumpy that I got stomach cramps
Fifty bundles with our names on 'em and every one is stamped
At least ten years if them pigs decided to run this van
I guess it wasn't meant for us
Young niggas wild, brave, and adventurous
Seventeen hour drives in a rented truck
Take it back to U-Haul, dent it up, we'd send it up
Several bottles and empty cups, just tipped 'em twenty bucks
Duffel Bag and Bo Jackson
Run over niggas who ain't got no traction
Touch down in your city, we dope taxin'
Free lunches in Section 8
Pray over scales in hopes that we bless the weight
Blood money in the church's collection plate

We gon' disrespect your election date
Two bands worth of singles in the collection plate
My team tight, but we rather catch a pass than to catch a case
Damn, respect your rations and bless your plates
Our Father, please bless this food and whatever else at stake
Shaheem's in the box when he could've made it at welterweight
Rest in peace to niggas you felt was great but then fell from grace
Two bands wrapped in rubber bands in collection plates

Call it chef debate, Raekwon with The Purple Tape
Have 'em raisin' the murder rate while I'm chillin' in Turks and Caic's
Flushed away before they rush the plays
Before I fall, don't tell 'em, don't fuck the states
Just give me another case, never told
Nobody incarcerated, never dropped a statement, still on the pavement
Gotta hustle to make these payments
Life on the line while I'm duckin' these agents
Tryna survive off minimum wages, nigga
My best friend with them rednecks and them racists
Got twenty-one in them cages, nigga
Faith be with us, God, my momma fightin' cancer
Father, I don't have the answer
Pissin' out methazine from the Phantom
Me and my hammer, cannon between, we doin' 'em dirty, country grammar
Afghani', bringin' the smoke down that chimney, come see Santa
Got a bitch that come from Atlanta, bringin' the grams, I cook her like nana
Stamp that pot with Boldy and Ransom
Add some Gunna, we got us an anthem, motherfuckers

Yeah, damn Gunna
I know they gon' feel this shit here, that's facts

We gon' disrespect your election date
Two bands worth of singles in the collection plate
My team tight, but we rather catch a pass than to catch a case
Damn, respect your rations and bless your plates
Our Father, please bless this food and whatever else at stake
Shaheem's in the box when he could've made it at welterweight
Rest in peace to niggas you felt was great but then fell from grace
Two bands wrapped in rubber bands in collection plates

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