1st Time Around

[Intro] There ain't too much time left now So I'll sit back and think out loud There ain't too much time— young men So I'll sit back— six after ten There ain't too much time left now So I'll sit back and think out loud There ain't too much time— young men So I'll sit back— [Verse 1: Boldy James] Free all my niggas in the scowl from hoopin' who blew trial for them shootings My prison pals who be catchin' pops off a interval Don't do no boostin', rollin' up while the sample loopin' Spot look like House Party 3, but this ain't no Kid n' Bilal Visions of Sal in the stu', me, Headache, him, and Gus I'm Ian Dutch on The View 'fore he did that twenty plus Or me and Fat D passin' out our number to the clucks Handin' out free sample packs, if you like this shit, hit me up Ain't stoopin' to your level, too busy ballroomin' Bike-lanin', on a Zoom call, I took the call zoomin' Tryna chase that pape' down, did twenty plus on a breakdance Opened up a new spot across the street from Skate Land Racked up like eight grand, strapped like a spray can Trap like I'm Ray-Bans, rap like I can't dance I can't stand when these niggas cap like they ain't fans Really be out here fakin' Jack when Jack really a made-man [Chorus: Boldy James] Take you back to the trap house duckin' a raid van Never had a paper route or no lemonade stand I put a chokehold on a brick, cookie-shade grams Count, smoke, crank and pour the drink up with the same hand Press up a CD, I ain't talkin' 'bout no blank disc Spin up a eighthy and a AP with the same wrist Wipe them down, the first time around, they had to change clips But pushers paid double, ayy, sick I came trips [Verse 2: Boldy James] Whole lot of gang shit Thousand-grams of gray shit, this not no edible arrangement Can't get too acquainted, way too much criminal engagement Ain't gon' get you shit but a federal arraignment I'm not a stranger to this game, I'm just a gamer Live from the Manger, could've been locked up for the remainder Smilin' in the face of danger, loadin' chops in the Prism Head high, chin up, chest out, throwin' rocks at the prison Do the same thing to you that they just did to you know who But that's between me and you, you ain't no shooter, you's a smut Never change scenes for the view, this photo might not be for you Hundred shots'll leave you swimmin' in a pool of you-know-what Had way too much time on my hands for me to ever think out loud Ain't have to catch up with my crowd, I always been my own man Movin' dust on the 6, new Gucci scuffs on the kicks Used to be cuffs on my wrists, now it's a fully-blown band [Chorus: Boldy James] Take you back to the trap house duckin' a raid van Never had a paper route or no lemonade stand I put a chokehold on a brick, cookie-shade grams Count, smoke, crank and pour the drink up with the same hand Press up a CD, I ain't talkin' 'bout no blank disc Spin up a eighthy and a AP with the same wrist Wipe them down, the first time around, they had to change clips But pushers paid double, ayy, sick I came trips [Outro] So I'll sit back and think out loud There ain't too much— times I'm in So I'll sit back— Was I the kind of man my father wanted me to be? Did I give my daughter and son The best of me? (ConCreatures 227) Ones that born to be fine young men The little one takes after them