Troy Ave - Classic Feel lyrics

rate me

Classic feel

Rubber grip or the plastic feel

This that Brooklyn shit, this is nothing new

This that safety off with that engine on

Mercedes Benz, good watch, scene above them all

How he got money when he ain’t have a job in so long?

This that hustler shit, that independent grind

That nautical sweat suit and white ones gold shine

Barbershop twice a week, stay sharp and in shape

Ain’t share it with you, trim your hair, underneath a killer

This that first hand shit, Maybach, tinted windows

Not gonna rap about it but really seen it from my window

This that fine line between jail and my crooks

My bedroom at my mama house smelling like coke

This that gambling spot, stop that, shooters at

Mad showing off with three birds in the backpack

Plenty trains on bitches, no names or pictures

Trap it low so she brought more things to fuck with us

This that half off credit, shit we don’t respect

We just dead in them if they try to do 60%

This that other 40% that minority flow

When all the achers sell hearts and only you sell blow

No pain, no gain, I profit of cane

Give a fuck who we slaying as long as my team remain

This that violating, y’all will meet your death

This that vile cover, nigga, east versus west

Classic feel

Rubber grip or the plastic feel

Classic feel

Rubber grip or the plastic feel, nigga

It’s that motherfucking classic feel

Rubber grip or the plastic feel

Classic feel

And if you get it like me you can tell it’s for real

Now if he say I ain’t hot I probably fucked his girl

Or did violence to his homies, took ‘em up out this world

Bruce Lee sure, only nigga with that glow

Yes, we rock it, nigga I’m the CEO

Most of these other rap niggas? They done seen before

MC for all, how the fuck you get my number and all?

Over line, this momma loves me, she proud of her kid

Used to call me like, “The cops here, don’t come to the crib!”

A bad boy, a more gangsta version to shine

My city all stay and I ain’t even get in my prime

Still getting that cake, a pill bury snow

On the real, fuck your opinion, I made it this far and you broke

When I was looking for guidance spread the Bible apart

But Exodus 20:13 didn’t shift my heart

So I move in silence, all you hear is this pow

See a flash ‘fore you pass, a light in the dark

What a sight in the chop, yeah, that’s DOA

I know I look like I’m balling but nigga mean, no play

I’m ‘bout my free, no lay, bags of chips

So if you feel on this shit, baby, rub on your tits

Classic feel

Rubber grip or the plastic feel

Classic feel

Rubber grip or the plastic feel, nigga

It’s that motherfucking classic feel

Rubber grip or the plastic feel

Classic feel

And if you get it like me you can tell it’s for real