Credits Lyrics

You know Wooda pop out

Got the tools I top the notch out

You done made me bring that Glock out

Aye I got it nigga watch out

Nothin' I can really do with reminiscing

Think I'm trippin'? Do you wanna know the feelin' ?

I'm a hero but they treat 'em like a villain

And you wonder why I do not want no dealings

Got em buyin' what I'm sellin'

I was breakin' rules like a felon

Month eleven, number seven

Gotta count the green and not the lettuce

I was mobbin' through the belly

For the bread and butter, not the jelly

Got me in there like a crevice aye you gotta go and check the credits

Been through so much, had to shake it off

She strut her stuff, let me break it off

I was not takin' no days off

I cannot wait till it pays off

I found my way through the maze, aye

I cannot wait for the vaycay

I cannot wait on the payday

Don't give a fuck about what they say I gotta take it to the ceiling

You wanna know about the feelin'?

I severed ties and cut the dealings

Pain left em blind I need the healin'

Came back for mine, you gotta feel me

I still pull up when the block hot

I'm cookin' up where a crockpot?

I gotta give all that I got

Fuck out my face, need a couple feet

It's not a race but I got you beat

Steady your pace, how it gotta be

Pray for the grace, it's the God in me

Hop in the booth, then I spit the truth

I told her hold up, I just need a boost

I throw the four up everywhere I go

E on the glow, gotta let ya know

Last man to stand on the pivot

I gotta stand on the business

I'm from the land and I'm gifted

I spread my wings cause I'm lifted

On point like ping on the mission

I do my thing in a jiffy

I do my thing, shit was splendid

You know Wooda pop out

Got the tools I top the notch out

You done made me bring that Glock out

Aye I got it nigga watch out

Nothin' I can really do with reminiscing

Think I'm tripping

Do you wanna know the feelin' ?

I'm a hero but they treat 'em like a villain

And you wonder why I do not want no dealings

Got em buyin' what I'm sellin'

I was breakin' rules like a felon

Month eleven, number seven

Gotta count the green and not the lettuce

I was mobbin' through the belly

For the bread and butter, not the jelly

Got me in there like a crevice aye you gotta go and check the credits