Trae - I Am The Streets

rate me


[Verse 1: Rick Ross]

Riding in a cab but I'm dreaming of a slab

Cooking ounces at a time, pussy nigga do the math

Ten ice chains, Prince like James

The day I made a stack in the trap, my life changed

Y'all ride swangers, we ride Daytons

It don't matter where you from, haters stay hating

Keep the windows tinted, artillery when I'm in it

Whip it in the kitchen before Hillary became a Clinton

Assholes by nature, cash flow was major

In the old school, or M codes and fragers

Started with a crumb, but turned it to a brick

They were calling me a bum, my turn, I'm the shit

Razor flipped things, age of fifteen

Got a Chevy in that thing, blades like Chris Creams

Rose on the wrist, when the shows ain't exist

Now my money long enough to put the fours on a six


[Chorus: Lloyd]

From the depths of the sea to the stars in the sky

I'm a be a hustler till I die

Sixty in the clip in case enough pride

But all them haters want to try

So shorty what you smoking on?

Marijuana's what I'm choking on

I don't care if you call me crazy

But street niggas getting mullah baby

[Verse 2: Trae tha Truth]

I'm still located in the gutter, fresh set of fours

Watching haters out a foreign, chopper on the floor

Pillowcases full of money, still ain't got no place to go

So I evacuate the safe, hit the hood and let it blow

You thinking I ain't the king of my section, nigga you way off

My hustle make the killer amazing like it's the playoffs

In the hood for real, these corners I never stay off

Satin black Camaro, the Challenger till the day off

Picture that

I remember of having visions of getting paid

Now I sit on something suede or in something that's getting sprayed

I'm in that field with the trap around the third eye

This the National Hood Geographics, call it bird watching

I'm this jungle rocking cinematic stones

Interstate, but the bread talking money so long

Pussy niggas mad because I'm getting my money on

Who else you know got out the hood and put half the city on?


[Bridge: Lloyd]

My name Young Lloyd, yeah you know what I'm on

Many girls are laid in my Styrofoam

And I'm in the H-Town, so don't play around

Or my nigga Trae tha Truth going to lay you down

Rick Ross be the boss in the Phantom and all

Got round the clock rocks, spring, winter, and fall

Some of y'all might call me crazy

But street niggas getting mullah baby

[Verse 3: The Game]

I'm a natural born asshole, is you? Yeah, why?

Because it's do or die when them choppers in the air

I see clear as Belvedere, you haters know this my year

Paid no attention to y'all, I'm still thinking about Shakur

Having suicidal thoughts in this Phantom, it's a bitch ain't it?

Paid a half a million for this motherfucker, then paint it

Chinchilla floor mats, that's beyond paper

Me and Trae flying through Houston like Von Wafer

You niggas ain't balling, you T-Mack, you stay hurt

I order more Pequa, got more rocks than a Jay verse

I used to sell pounds, watch 'Mash', and weigh work

Got shot and woke up out a coma, could've been way worse

But now I'm living for my niggas

Locked deep down in the prison hole, with no vision

When I drop the top, I do it for you

So close your eyes and let the sun shine through



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