To The Grave Lyrics – Nems
Singer: Nems
Title: To The Grave
You don’t even know what you just did
Uh
Gorilla
Brrrt
Bow!
My n#gg#
East side of Buffalo to Coney Island
C-I
Griselda
f#ck Your Lyfer gang n#gg#, we out here
Butcher comin’ n#gg#
Yo listen, go get your pops. Go get your uncle, your hardback cousin, whoever n#gg#. We out here, go get ’em
I ain’t f#ck wit’ rat n#gg#s since Big put out Life
And I won’t scrap wit’ ya, the Sig put out lights
I re-rock then the coppers pull out pipes
I’m the last legend left since the doctors took out Mike
I put gorillas on your back like a Bape jackеt
All my neighbors had base habits
I played thе trap with a plate, a .38, and a straight jacket
Hundred in the stash box, you know what I’m here for
Chainsaws and HGH, Butcher on ster#ids
You ain’t tryna clear at least a million, what you here for?
Dirty money falling out the ceiling on the headboard
Turn my trap phone on, soon as I hit the town
What they re’ing up with I’m spending at Mr. Chao’s
Rest in piece to my brother, my mother she miss her child
I wish death to them n#gg#s that hit him and blicked him down
I rode around with dirty scales, lord knows I’m reckless
I went up top and made your b#tch get a phone connected
The sh#t I did in the streets written in stone forever
My young n#gg#s stacking bodies like a bone collector
I won’t stop until you gone forever
Hit the block in the coldest leather
You m#th*rf#ck*rs on all these tracks, talkin’ bout all this money
But if ya girl break up with you right now, you gon’ be homeless n#gg#
That’s why at shows heavily booed rappers
Left arm swerve, steadily shoot backwards
Question the boot tactics
When you die, you gon’ get greeted in heaven by 72 faggots
So stop pressin’ your luck, the desert is tucked
This the resurrection of Ruck
I’m on the block with a ugly b#tch caressing her butt
b#tch I don’t care how many kids you got I’m just tryna f#ck (b#tch)
Straight up, keep iron on the waist
Rob n#gg#s in my building walk buy ’em everyday
I’d be lying if I say that I listen to your sh#t
Smack your f#cking teeth out, now you whistle when you spit
I’m official with the spit and the merch speaking for me
I can teach a n#gg# how to turn 7 dollars to forty (Times a thousand)
You can’t ignore when I mash with Butcher
We be runnin’ down on rappers like Ashton Kutcher (Punk n#gg#)
All I got, all I got
Is the game, is the game
Hundred shots, hundred shots
It’ll wave, let ’em wave
You on top, you on top
I feel the same, I feel the same
From the block, from the block
To the grave, to the grave
Brrrrrat, m#th*rf#ck*r
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Lyrics Nems – To The Grave
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