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