YOUNG CHRIS - Nosetalgia lyrics

rate me

ft. Peedi Crakk

Heart as cold as December

Shots hard as the Devil

Hustle, plotting some reggies

Just surviving the ghetto

Survival of the fittest

Itchy fingers for triggers

Sticky fingers we got, it’s the fingers that hit us

Best women in tropic, just hella exotic

You can smell on my pocket

Friend tell ‘em I got it

Counterclock on the colon just to sprinkle a soda

Whole city embrace him like he a soldier

Waiting to blow, ready to go if them niggas approach me

They watching the cars, they watching the sauce

So I sleep with it closely

Yeah, sleeping banana, freak them with Daisy

Orgasm, they get to busting, leave them no dely

I’m ready to go, he’s ready to blow, my nigga, he’s buzzing

I murdered a cop, he’s better than who? My nigga, you bugging

We get hot and we thuggin’, 36 in the oven

God, I’m pitching and hugging, fiends sticking and puffing

Hard now, we crumbling, yeah, we flipping the water

And we richer than Porter and I’m hitting they daughters

Niggas saying wishing me luck, niggas wish me to die

Kid nigga’s alive

Cousin on meth leave, uncle on crack crime

Brother on a jail cell, youngest on the back block

Giving no warnings, been in the corner with my Glock high

Lil’ clown, fuck you for a pound with that Mac out

Sky blue, one time slid through, it’s green now

Stop in fresh lanes, face down like any day now

Licking drugs in strip clubs, this is the Devil’s playground

I’m intentionally in it, my intuitions is vague now

Could be lottas of K rounds, make your heart skip a tempo

Leave the aroma, disarranges, build me the incidentals

Gotta switch up the rental, my appointment’s in pencil

30 and stitching and turn the info in a sip

I’m just Peedi, I can’t be what you perceive me

To be what you seeing and believe on your TV

I’m iller than watching Thriller in 3D

See me still chilling with my nigga, see, it’s still us, P

Feeling like a million, fuck these niggas RIP

Buck niggas all they see, fucking with the black and Latin Master P

Bout it, bout it, shot it ‘cause I’m probably bout it

Faggots hopping off the closet like style out of pocket