Mikkey Halsted - Momma In My Ear lyrics

rate me

ft. Pusha T

Young Chop on the beat

[Hook]

Yeah, momma on my mind

I got momma in my ear, my woman on my back

Gotta get this cheese to get up out this trap

Taking penitentiary chances, playing Russian Roulette

Ducking out police, trying to cheat the angel of death

[Verse 1: Mikkey Halsted]

I learned the cheat code from real niggas

Got out the house early, I was a field nigga

Let’s be honest, these artists don’t paint the real picture

I try to listen but honestly, I don’t feel niggas

I was Polo, Nautica, Hilfiger

Been fresh to death, therefore we spill liquor

You dummies don’t even get it, do you

Rapping my life, you suckas don’t even live it, do you

From where pussies get fucking wetter

Still my daddy made me fight them niggas head up’

I dig the knowledge, I hope these cowawrds is read up

Funerals get expensive, I hope that you got your bread up

Go ahead and jump out that window

I stopped playing with niggas after Nintendo

I know you niggas is pillow

You want to understand Mikkey, it’s this simple

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Mikkey Halsted]

Bury so many family I’m feeling numb

So many homies, it hurts even worse when they young

Sometimes I ain’t proud of where I’m from

I wonder if momma’s proud of what I’ve become

She say she is but I know that she wanted more from me

Know that God got something special in store for me

See, the journey just made me more hungry

I’m not bitch, need no man to open the door for me

I wish daddy could see me, my granny could feed me

A famous ? if Scarface had never plugged ?

And my cousin Cee-lo Reed was here to hear my CD

I gotta step up in his daughter’s life, I know she needs me

Chasing Lamborghinis, I’m merciless

Overdo it, every line is superfluous

Chicago the place that birthed this shit

But we claim the whole universe as our turf

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Pusha T]

Yech, I can’t escape the slander

The irony of “I escaped the slammer”

Guess I’m Houdini in that motherfucking manor

Local authorities can’t oppress my grandeur

They see me three ways, MTV with the VJs

Any mag cover or TSA in my PJs

Whoo, I fly them every so often

When I die, Maserati rig the coffin

Thirteen millionaires on the run to Boston

Call spades by the racist ass Massachusetts officers

Digest, put it together niggas

Ha, I was simply being clever, niggas

Lucky for you, this ain’t my sole endeavor, nigga

Or you’d be calling me Hov or even better, nigga

Whoo, notorious Push

It’s only so long that the gods overlooked one