It Was Written

[Intro]

Six million ways to die

(Took a lot to get this Rollie nigga)

Six million ways to get rich

(Huh, hah)

[Verse 1]

Everybody keep tellin' me, "Make a club record. 

You ain't trappin' no more—stop makin' drug records. 

You got a daughter 'bout to come—stop makin' thug records."

I brought that money back fast, I had the plug flexin'

Welcome to Harlem, el Barrio, that's the drug section

Hit your bitch with my jeans on, ain't making love naked

I got love for my loco but I know cuz reckless

I ain't gotta sleep in the projects, I did enough stressing

My father was a rolling stone but taught me one lesson

Do your dirt by yourself, your friends be the ones telling

I knew it broke my mother's heart to know her son selling

I had coke in my dresser, trifling as ever

I had a dream Biggie featured me on Life After

I be with my same niggas, I don't really like rappers

Niggas can't make a song for nothing but they nice actors

Go and get a movie role, low bagging up tuna rolls, raw shit

I come from a block where you seen it but never saw shit

I be at the juice bar, my wheat grass and bark shit

My younging just came from up north, he want to park shit

Tryna teach him something bout life and how we started

Lower class poverty, homies from jail calling me

Playing the number everyday but never hit the lottery

Liquor store on every corner, might as well get drunk

I remember that free lunch wasn't shooting, we would jump stones

Niggas like the end of the blunt, traps load up

I told papi I got him by the end of the month

I was thinking bout 550's with the cinnamon guts

These shots'll blow your mind away, now your memory dust

In memory of, I got a JF Kennedy buzz

Presidential called enterprise, I need another rental

Tryna take a package down to North Carolina

Maybe buy some Ferragamo, I'm so focused on the commas

[Pre-Hook]

If you never been broke it's gon' be hard to feel me

Only Allah get my vote, it's gon' be hard to kill me

They say practice make perfect, we at it every day

Thinking about that consignment, sometimes I never paid

[Hook]

It was written I'm gifted, homie come learn something

Conversations 'bout paper homie, let's burn something

It was written I'm gifted, homie come learn something

Conversations 'bout paper homie, let's burn something

[Verse 2]

It's hard to stop what's already in motion

I ain't gotta hit your blunt, I've already been smoking

G Star denims on my Shmurda shit

In '08 my mental was really on some murder shit

Cause nothing was working out

Just to pass the time started working out

Me and my nigga Jay Black from way back

He a Bronx nigga, met him in Queens

Butch crib, met up with fiends

Imagine Nas signed you, hell of a dream

Somebody pinch me

Promise nothing they say ever getting to me

Used to watch House Party, now Kid N Play listen to me

This that talk that make the hustlers want to open shop

This that stash house talk, don't let 'em know the spot

This that talk that got my city wanting to rap again

This that all black everything like an African

This that middle of the summer in a trench coat

Glock 19 reminding them of how you been broke

[Pre-Hook]

If you never been broke it's gon' be hard to feel me

Only Allah get my vote, it's gon' be hard to kill me

They say practice make perfect, we at it every day

Thinking about that consignment, sometimes I never paid

[Hook]

It was written I'm gifted, homie come learn something

Conversations 'bout paper homie, let's burn something

It was written I'm gifted, homie come learn something

Conversations 'bout paper homie, let's burn something

[Outro]

I talked my way right up out the projects nigga

Put your mind to it, anything is possible haha

From a hole in the wall, yeah

Now we in the presidential suite man

Top floor, fly over your bus, nigga

Harlem, yeah