| [Hook:] | |
| A nigga got problems | |
| Sittin’ here, plottin’ how to count a million dollars | |
| I need houses and garages | |
| Got baby mama drama, get my mama out the projects | |
| Ain’t got too many options | |
| So I’ma take one, double back and make a profit | |
| I need houses and garages | |
| Got baby mama drama, get my mama out the projects | |
| [Verse 1:] | |
| I gotta get my mama out the projects | |
| So it’s llamas in the projects | |
| A nigga out here starving | |
| This rap better work, I’m playing niggas in that garden | |
| I came from that fridge with empty crates and milk cartons | |
| Barely achin’, walking with a 9 | |
| Should I shoot him down or just rob a nigga blind | |
| Only head shots, never catch him in his spine | |
| That’s what my block taught me, it’s a kill every time | |
| That’s just the mind of a kid trying to free his mom | |
| Out that two bedroom with five kids | |
| Malnourished, ribs touching, man this poverty a bitch | |
| So we slanging dope, ducking pigs, posted with them sticks | |
| Welcome to Ohio, where we hustle to live | |
| So it’s factory work | |
| Or we busting down and breaking if that ain’t gon’ work | |
| Then we run in your crib, cig smoking like Wiz | |
| One move, bump bump, put two in your wig | |
| Grandma pray for our sins, hoping God forgives | |
| But today is pay day, and all this broke ish gon’ end | |
| I swear all this broke ish gon’ end | |
| [Hook] | |
| [Verse 2:] | |
| My baby on her last Pamper | |
| And her mama on my last nerve | |
| And I just lost my sneaker gig | |
| So you know it’s back to the curb | |
| My cousin got a bird, said he front me quarter key | |
| Told him, "gimme a week, I’ll be where I need to be” | |
| Now I’m penitentiary chancing on the block with my G’s | |
| Trying to clock G’s to feed my family | |
| And I don’t wanna do it but I’m in a tight squeeze | |
| Left hand full of stones, right hand got a tight squeeze | |
| On this hammer case a nigga try me | |
| Cops casing the block trying to lock me | |
| It’s hard here, nightmares | |
| ‘Cause I don’t want my kids to grow up here | |
| But it feels like a trap, all I do is trap here | |
| Everyday we hoping fences, dipping on twelve | |
| It’s like we running track here | |
| But I gotta get this pack clear | |
| Survival is the key | |
| Big ass crib with garages is the dream | |
| Ba-balancing flows, to balancing triple beams | |
| ‘Cause I ain’t never been a problem | |
| But something’s gotta give | |
| ‘Cause a nigga got problems | |
| [Hook] | |
| [Outro:] | |
| Blue collar, blue, blue collar [x8] |
| Hook: | |
| A nigga got problems | |
| Sittin' here, plottin' how to count a million dollars | |
| I need houses and garages | |
| Got baby mama drama, get my mama out the projects | |
| Ain' t got too many options | |
| So I' ma take one, double back and make a profit | |
| I need houses and garages | |
| Got baby mama drama, get my mama out the projects | |
| Verse 1: | |
| I gotta get my mama out the projects | |
| So it' s llamas in the projects | |
| A nigga out here starving | |
| This rap better work, I' m playing niggas in that garden | |
| I came from that fridge with empty crates and milk cartons | |
| Barely achin', walking with a 9 | |
| Should I shoot him down or just rob a nigga blind | |
| Only head shots, never catch him in his spine | |
| That' s what my block taught me, it' s a kill every time | |
| That' s just the mind of a kid trying to free his mom | |
| Out that two bedroom with five kids | |
| Malnourished, ribs touching, man this poverty a bitch | |
| So we slanging dope, ducking pigs, posted with them sticks | |
| Welcome to Ohio, where we hustle to live | |
| So it' s factory work | |
| Or we busting down and breaking if that ain' t gon' work | |
| Then we run in your crib, cig smoking like Wiz | |
| One move, bump bump, put two in your wig | |
| Grandma pray for our sins, hoping God forgives | |
| But today is pay day, and all this broke ish gon' end | |
| I swear all this broke ish gon' end | |
| Hook | |
| Verse 2: | |
| My baby on her last Pamper | |
| And her mama on my last nerve | |
| And I just lost my sneaker gig | |
| So you know it' s back to the curb | |
| My cousin got a bird, said he front me quarter key | |
| Told him, " gimme a week, I' ll be where I need to be" | |
| Now I' m penitentiary chancing on the block with my G' s | |
| Trying to clock G' s to feed my family | |
| And I don' t wanna do it but I' m in a tight squeeze | |
| Left hand full of stones, right hand got a tight squeeze | |
| On this hammer case a nigga try me | |
| Cops casing the block trying to lock me | |
| It' s hard here, nightmares | |
| ' Cause I don' t want my kids to grow up here | |
| But it feels like a trap, all I do is trap here | |
| Everyday we hoping fences, dipping on twelve | |
| It' s like we running track here | |
| But I gotta get this pack clear | |
| Survival is the key | |
| Big ass crib with garages is the dream | |
| Babalancing flows, to balancing triple beams | |
| ' Cause I ain' t never been a problem | |
| But something' s gotta give | |
| ' Cause a nigga got problems | |
| Hook | |
| Outro: | |
| Blue collar, blue, blue collar x8 |
| Hook: | |
| A nigga got problems | |
| Sittin' here, plottin' how to count a million dollars | |
| I need houses and garages | |
| Got baby mama drama, get my mama out the projects | |
| Ain' t got too many options | |
| So I' ma take one, double back and make a profit | |
| I need houses and garages | |
| Got baby mama drama, get my mama out the projects | |
| Verse 1: | |
| I gotta get my mama out the projects | |
| So it' s llamas in the projects | |
| A nigga out here starving | |
| This rap better work, I' m playing niggas in that garden | |
| I came from that fridge with empty crates and milk cartons | |
| Barely achin', walking with a 9 | |
| Should I shoot him down or just rob a nigga blind | |
| Only head shots, never catch him in his spine | |
| That' s what my block taught me, it' s a kill every time | |
| That' s just the mind of a kid trying to free his mom | |
| Out that two bedroom with five kids | |
| Malnourished, ribs touching, man this poverty a bitch | |
| So we slanging dope, ducking pigs, posted with them sticks | |
| Welcome to Ohio, where we hustle to live | |
| So it' s factory work | |
| Or we busting down and breaking if that ain' t gon' work | |
| Then we run in your crib, cig smoking like Wiz | |
| One move, bump bump, put two in your wig | |
| Grandma pray for our sins, hoping God forgives | |
| But today is pay day, and all this broke ish gon' end | |
| I swear all this broke ish gon' end | |
| Hook | |
| Verse 2: | |
| My baby on her last Pamper | |
| And her mama on my last nerve | |
| And I just lost my sneaker gig | |
| So you know it' s back to the curb | |
| My cousin got a bird, said he front me quarter key | |
| Told him, " gimme a week, I' ll be where I need to be" | |
| Now I' m penitentiary chancing on the block with my G' s | |
| Trying to clock G' s to feed my family | |
| And I don' t wanna do it but I' m in a tight squeeze | |
| Left hand full of stones, right hand got a tight squeeze | |
| On this hammer case a nigga try me | |
| Cops casing the block trying to lock me | |
| It' s hard here, nightmares | |
| ' Cause I don' t want my kids to grow up here | |
| But it feels like a trap, all I do is trap here | |
| Everyday we hoping fences, dipping on twelve | |
| It' s like we running track here | |
| But I gotta get this pack clear | |
| Survival is the key | |
| Big ass crib with garages is the dream | |
| Babalancing flows, to balancing triple beams | |
| ' Cause I ain' t never been a problem | |
| But something' s gotta give | |
| ' Cause a nigga got problems | |
| Hook | |
| Outro: | |
| Blue collar, blue, blue collar x8 |
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