100 Years From Now ft. Sam Lozgo Lyrics

I stash the money to my duffle bag, tell shorty to go and grab the cam recorder. Gotta document my life before that shit it is over.

In a world cold as ice no such thing as closer. I'm going off the grid, maybe Nova Scotia. Ain't smoking on no dope only artichokes. Gotta catch a couple salmon when I'm on the road. Up in them hills not making any sounds. Off the radar I'm chilling in the round.

And so I spread my wings before I fly.

I I I

I'm soaring high and mighty I touch the sky. The sky baby.

Just cause I told you so, I'm the villain now. Yeah yeah yeah.

Just cause I told you so, I'm the villain now.

Yeah yeah yeah.

Now my homies chilling back on city ground.

Till Martial Law comes around they calling me clown. Till all tress are gone nothing left to tear down. Till all the food is gone they won't kill each other now.

Before we drop the bombs shoot off all the nukes. Everything comes around like a hula hoop. Everything's cool till's there no loot a freeze happening with the ice breaking down your roof. A tragedy strikes throws every one at spook. Your majesty I might just have the news.

Opening my mind with these pretty thoughts. Opening my time for all this chaos.

No me quiero ni imaginar

Lo malo que podría pasar

Si en un futuro no estamos juntos

Tú ausencia a mí me afecta mucho

Pues si te vas no me importa nada

No me importa nada ya

And so I did it on my own, off the grid is where I relocated my home. A bunch of Arial shots taken right from my drone. They say we might live in water but me I grab my grab sack I can't have that I got more crap just to show off when I blow.

Oh yeah.

They must be smoking that Cali green thinking I'm a part of that show.

Oh yeah.

Turning up with all the homies, chilling with all the hoes. Man that hot tub getting hella hot. Fill that thing with super thots.

Serving steaks right off of the grill spot. I got fire chilling on my block my music dropping it's always a top. Yo shit dropping its always a flop. I'm occupying that digital spot.

Pusha-T when I'm pushin P and I ain't talking no drugs homie. Press play let the vinyl spin shit hit like a crack pipe homie. Can-not-beat-me-homie.

Gotta better chance fucking a fat dike.

If it don't go right, my music flows like hella tight, and I run real slow.

Real slow.

Whistle.