Break Bread Lyrics

And they gotta break bread

Rolando Rich

And they gotta break bread

Spodey Fontana

And they gotta break bread

Ayyy

Jumpin' off the curb with a elbow

Yeah, I'm violent with the finance

Glock 17 with that beam and that silence

Pride Hoodstar, walkin' like I talkin

A four-time loser, boy, won't hesitate to chalk shit

Y'all hangin' out with losers

My whole section filled with bruisers

I just left that hood on my blue beach cruiser

Menace to society, they took my sobriety

Burnin' rubber in that foreign whip

Givin' up that 40s dick

Boutta bag, boy, I'ma get my chip

Ask about Roe

Everybody know I get it on the low

I like to play broke and stack up my dough

There's only one thing, I love playin' hoes

So I'm backin' in that VIP, hoppin' out that Rose

And I'm on that Rose

I rip bricks into a house like I'm Jose

Started with a Quavo

Now they call me the Black Don Diego

Hey ho, watch what you say though

Reckless on my phone to get you a dial tone

I'm that B-Blow hookah, gettin' my clown on

Bout to jump on a jet and run up a town

I'm in that pocket, ten toes down

It's Hail Mary, till they bury me at G

I was raised in a pound, I'm a hoof with a Cherokee

Gunpowder pitbull with a fist full of blues

They think I'm Buck's clan

Hoppin' out like Horace Grant in that Rose truck, man

Plenty of them bust downs, but we rather bust bands

Only time I touch hands when a nigga touch down

And they gotta break bread

And they gotta break bread

And they gotta break bread

I got my crown on, we back home when we roam

I got that bag on me, don't be playin' I'm grown

I got that mag on me, you mind your own, you live long

End up a grandpappy, get the pig in your nose

They sweepin' your froze and taggin' your toes

And meanwhile, I'm chasin' paper while you chasin' hoes

Livin' with your mama and wearin' your homie's clothes

No more Roof Crest and Berry's Cafe

That EDD and PPP done burnt out like a souffle

Now you lookin' thirsty, bout to blow off your toupee

And I can't lie, sometimes I feel like Tupac

Cause I can't go nowhere without bustin' this new Glock

They say it's thug life, blue and big, run it home down

I'm in that pocket, ten toes down

It's Hail Mary, til they bury me a G

I was raised in a pound, I'm a wolf with a Cherokee

Gunpowder pitbull with a fist full of blues

They think I'm Bucks Clan

Hoppin' out like Horace Grant in that Rose truck, man

Plenty of them bust downs, but we rather bust bands

Only time I touch hands, when a nigga touchdown

And they gotta break bread

And they gotta break bread

And they gotta break bread

And they gotta break bread