• Tag Archives Pat Tillman
  • J.I.D. – General (Live)

    Fuckin’ wisdom tooth is killin’ me
    The fuck
    Uh, ahem

    [Verse 1]
    Check, anybody can see the kid got it
    I see niggas ignore it so I feel a way about it
    From rapping in that truck with bolts on and rolling blunts
    Bagging a couple bitches and fucking them all at once
    Friday night lights, I was catching and dropping punts
    Thinking about rapping, I could be J.I.D or like Chris Johnson
    My thumbs keep strumming kinda like the Mumford & Sons
    Mommy went dumb when she got that call I had got caught
    Kicked out of college for tongues, niggas be talking
    I wasn’t even on camera, just hit the lick with some amateurs
    Glad we did that, now I’m flying to Los Angeles with a 8th in my pre-rolls
    Call that shit a tarantula
    Tarantino on your big screen, ho
    Slave man, South East Coast, J.I.D or DiCap Leo
    Set it off, my big sis reminded me of Cleo
    And my brothers is killers you might see on Nat Geo’
    You gotta chill cause niggas can get they cap peeled
    I keep that 40 like I’m Pat Tillman
    They sent my nigga up the hill, yea they jack jill’d ’em
    And a million other black children
    Let’s crack the seal, I’m spillin’

    Alright, I feel amazing, I can feel the haters, do something
    I ain’t finna fade ya, I ain’t got a taser, shoot something
    Niggas talkin’ crazy, wipe the little baby, too funny
    Pull up on ya, had a crew coming, take a deuce on ya, hold up

    [Verse 2]
    Looking for it in the night time
    I been looking for it all day
    Imma get it at the right time
    Watch em fuck with me the long way
    Watch a nigga at the bike whip
    Hit the buyer with the stone face
    Greenbriar with the whole case
    Bust it down and flood the whole state
    Bitches know when that work good
    Anna Mae eat the whole cake
    We ain’t even gotta role play
    Had to get it out the bowl way
    Kill shit, OJ, No way, Jose, Slo-Mo, okay
    I don’t do this shit at your pace
    I ain’t here to do it your way
    And I’m coming thru the ceiling, thru the floor, back and front door way
    You do not want war, I swear, I swore on your grave
    I been on my shit since like 6th, 5th, and 4th grade—wait
    Even before grades, going to my brother court dates
    And I asked my momma bout what he did but they’d never tell me
    Then I figured he killed a nigga or got caught for some dope he selling
    Kinda close but no cigarillo, he was armored up, that’s a armadillo
    My pops did time in the military and he taught us how to disarm a nigga
    See the boys, you better warn a nigga but JID prolly got warrants, nigga
    Like North Carolina or South Carolina, got the hideout in like Florence, nigga
    Swear your raps so borin’, nigga
    Then you say you trap—you be lyin’, nigga
    I don’t fuck with none of y’all happy trappers
    Better grab and strap, people dyin’, nigga, Lord
    Sorry we making all the noise
    But you ain’t have to call the boys
    Some shit you just can’t avoid
    Dumb shit, coolin’ with the squad