Playeristic

[Intro: J Nics] Yeah, that sound good That sound good (That sound good) (That sound good) Aye (Aye) (Aye) (Aye) RideLowMane (RideLowMane) (RideLowMane) (RideLowMane) Let’s get it (Let’s get it) (Let’s get it) (Let’s get it) Aye (Aye) [Verse 1: J Nics] Murder was the case, so you can’t get specific A hundred in the safe off the coast of Pacific Serving Frosted Flakes Now she say the dick is “Gr-Gr-Great!” Blowin' grass, nigga higher than the stakes Check the math, more digits than the license plate Niggas doin' real numbers, but they actin' fake My pieces hittin’ like a uppercut from Cassius Clay I’m on some “Which bitch can a nigga have today?” Fuck an affidavit, trying to cop the latest So my kids can spill food in the finest places Niggas talkin' real rude, but never in our faces It’s like me and my heroes been changing places From Euro to dinero, we for exchanging Do them hoes like my baggage, I ain’t never claiming I’m real Randy Savage Off the top, Superboy, Babbage What a night, nigga bumpin’ Gladys Extra leafy green on the salad Niggas chillin', listening to ballads Ice grillin', full of carats How you living? Even the ceiling fan is automatic Me and my dreams like Nicotine — I gotta have it Yeah [Interlude] G way more realer than that, baby Get more realer than LAT G, it’s not just futuristic, it’s playeristic For the players only, you dig it? Yeah-yeah [Verse 2: J Nics] Playeristic, what I’m sippin’ on be too exquisite All my bitches think I’m photogenic She singing to it like she Ari Lennox I’m the god fresh off Mount Olympus Against the odds, touching all the limits Pulling cards, Ace of Spade got her in her feelings When times was hard, we had to wrap it up and vacuum seal it Tim McGraw, hit the road with that country business But we ain’t country niggas, we 'round the country gettin’ it Southern niggas ain’t slow and I ain’t cookin’ Chitlins But you still lose intestines, the MAC relentless Not Blood, but all the bros got a blood commitment I ain’t thuggin’, killa, but we just keep it pimpin’ [Verse 3: Boldy James] Made a sharp turn around the corner, peacing out the quarters Shorted Titi from the last time, she was out of order Police in the turning lane behind me, cut the blinker on Made a left into the gas station, "Give me ten on Pump 8" Right back on the ave, crankin’ on my way to make a play 'Cause I can’t leave that bag waiting Curbside service, niggas still makin' house calls Bus left at 9:20, drop bro at the Hound Dog Outlaw Immortal, from the "Cradle To The Grave"" Screaming, “How long will they mourn me?” – you can never feel my pain Kept it Fatal like Hussein; dinner table full of 'caine If you reach then we gon' teach – you can never feel my chain I ain’t never been a stan, I’m forever with the gang We policing in the street, you can never kill my name I’m a real Road Runner, you can never steal my lane They know me from dope running, we was never built the same, nigga [Refrain: J Nics] Playeristic, what I’m sippin’ on be too exquisite All my bitches think I’m photogenic Playeristic, what I’m sippin’ on be too exquisite All my bitches think I’m photogenic Playeristic, what I’m sippin’ on be too exquisite All my bitches think I’m photogenic Playeristic, what I’m sippin’ on be too exquisite All my bitches think I’m photogenic [Outro] "No one knows how many working pimps there are in the United States. It is know that many pimps, though they like to describe themselves as gentlemen of leisure, in fact do work in pushing and dealing in drugs." "You understand? I come up, wanting things out of life, you know, and uh, I’m-I found a way to get things that I want, seeing as I wasn’t born with a gold spoon in my mouth, and I don’t have none of that old cash, I felt as if, uh, I want things that out of life, and there’s only one way to get them, and that’s cash—money" {*echoes out*}