July on the sound

JBM

Score: 15
/
Played: 31

Album:

Not Even in July

Genres:

Canadian
Indie
Folk
Singer songwriter

Moods:

Languages:

Featured by:

GIK

Wiki:

Lyrics:

Earn upon approval! {{lyricsContributionDisabled ? '(While you\'re under '+USER_CONTRIBUTION_GAINS_LIMIT.WIKI_LYRICS+' Beats)' : ''}}

[Intro] (Grade A, Grade A, Grade A) Take a bitch shoulder Finna introduce y'all to Lil Reuben AKA Mr. G6, G Swig, me swig Talk to ’em bro [Verse 1] Nigga, I'm clean as in detergent Stunting on purpose Throw out on some cocky shit, nigga I'm perfect Pussy, you peep it, the red, black, green shit Marc Jacob glasses ’cause I'm e-classic (This is a Tay James exclusive) Fly so classic, pocket full of plastic Getting active with a actress who loves shagging Magnums, baggage, Louis, ooh He fruity, stupid Jury on, taking pictures with a groupie I move smoothly into the club like what the fuck up Bars getting bought by me and I'm bout to roll up So what's the hold up? And there ain't enough liquor in this club For me to intoxicate a female You gotta give it up Tell her tricks alive, so she believe Just enough to do exactly what I say When I'm about to catch my nut But my money on, my money is extra on And if you ain't getting paper, this is not where you belong The life I'm living, rockstar bitch (Fly rockstar bitch) Carseat and hash ’cause I sparked up Retarded stacks, I’m heat balling Display in the clutch, I'm Chris Paul-ing (Bake) ’Cause he balling and everybody know it It's lit in the club, plus everybody smoking Everybody drinking, psyched out, choking Money in my pocket and everybody knows it So what's frozen, the neck or the G Shock The kush green diamonds, the necklace is on detox Shawtie look bad, maybe I could hit her g-spot Her man look lame, a bugle boy, he's the Rebox 3 shots down the drain and I’m rolling Where the fucking waitress at, with my potion? 'Cause this potent, mixed with this potion Could have a nigga dazed for days and I ain't joking If it ain't the purple haze or blaze, they ain't smoking I don't do the mid by kid, I hate choking Focus, back to me, myself, I Little room, dressing room, the kid remains fly I'm doing my thing, I am truly insane Try to play me in vain, I'm removing your brain (Haha) [Interlude 1] You gotta go man For real bro, go in bro Alright Go in bro, show 'em what time it is Chill, chill [Verse 2] I got the respect from the hood, the hood from respect That's why whenever they make a move I be at they neck I feel so analystic, statistics analyzed That's why my percentages come correct when baking pies Making it, take it live I fuck a bitch, kill a guy Nigga just give me the bird and the boss is taking mine But slut, I'm on my grind like sex work That's why she hang off my every word like tax work Call me Mr. Mister, fucked her with her sister Tell the boy to roll the gun and go buy my elixir Dranking little sips, that's why I got temper Problems, I'll probably murk them as soon as they enter A hot-boy, hot-boy, but colder than the winter Wood grain, hood lane, touch it get a splinter I am just a winner, an easy bullet lender You can have it, you can have it, nigga go hit her [Interlude 2] Grade A, gangster These niggas starvin' now Murder everything now That's lil' roof It's lil' somethin', you feel me? I'm out here So I'm bouta go, I'ma talk about bitches What I tell a bitch? Go bruh, lay it on Nigga, shit [Verse 3] Might shed the amor, this door awaits Waits to see how many whores this floor can take Fate is victim to take place in times erased Taste is remember to spread the love all over your face, face I come from flyness, I'm fly as a pilot No style, style just comes to me 'Cause if the shirt match the shoes And the shoes match everything I got on Then bitches, they just come do me And I'm back up on the track like your ass right? You niggas think you could have the fucking last laugh (Nah) I'm in the black jack, blood cock, black ass Shoot him in the head and now the nigga dead Black bag [Outro] (Grade A, grade A, grade A) That's all I gotta say Like I told them bruh It's the monster, aka Mr. fancy swag This man right here and I am KC These are your soldiers We take it here, we don't lie We got him, we got him And my lil' bruh, he tearing this shit apart Lil, lil boy, lil' boy Fuck niggas taking over the station Wow And we the flyest niggas doing this shit, man See over here, see them, them Hey, like I said This man, JID, goddamn, we boys around Crush all you fuck niggas, fuck nigga Fuck with us, fuck nigga I'll say anything, check the chain Check the wrist, check the feet Goddamn Hey what it do, it's your man Rosco Now, you're tuning into the sound of DJ James, man