b#stards Lyrics – Adam Calhoun
Singer: Adam Calhoun
Title: b#stards
Momma raised a gangster, Daddy wasn’t there
Grandfather taught me how to work and make it out of here
The streets taught me how to be cold and don’t care
And the country taught me how to hold my head with no fear
They better start shootin’ if they think that they gonna stop me
Pop smoke or Tupac me; I don’t rock with bodyguards, I’m too cocky
Two glockys and this shotty knock your top off, you copy?
And all these white boys jockin’ me while they copy
Look, I’m mayonnaise white as f#ck too
Throwing hand grenades out the side of my truck, like, “f#ck you!”
Can’t you get your own style, own look?
Or you just going to be a clone and take everything out my whole book?
Just my presence is a blessin’, you peasants need to invest
In heavy weapons instead of studio sessions
Yeah I hear you rappin’, but I don’t see progression
My résumé’s impressive every second is perfection
Momma raised a gangster, Daddy wasn’t there
Grandfather taught me how to work and make it out of here
The streets taught me how to be cold and don’t care
And the country taught me how to hold my head with no fear
Momma raised a gangster
Momma raised a gangster
Momma raised a gangster
Momma raised a gangster
Knocking down the door with the street sweeper
This thing got in my hand is a meat cleaver
You can get shot or get cut in half
I’m cutting out a path with a chainsaw and a weeder
I know you don’t think they f#ckin’ with me! Me either
I’m balling like I’m MJ ridin’ ’til the tires bald the gas tank empty
Got another thing coming you think I’m friendly
I’m a giant like I’m 10 feet you dyin’ if you tempt me
m#th*rf#ck*r I’m sayin’, “Dyin’ if you tempt me”
Ay, what the f#ck is wrong with them? You #ss like a thong in ’em
Dewrags, saggy pants don’t mean you rap, killin’ all of ’em
They fallin’ like it’s Autumn, time for you to call an audible
I rap about way more than broads and expensive automobiles
Momma raised a gangster, Daddy wasn’t there
Grandfather taught me how to work and make it out of here
The streets taught me how to be cold and don’t care
And the country taught me how to hold my head with no fear
Momma raised a gangster
Momma raised a gangster
Momma raised a gangster
Momma raised a gangster
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Lyrics Adam Calhoun – b#stards
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