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Time killers (Explicit) - Schoolboy Q
Lyrics by:Jason Pounds/Quincy MattHew Hanley
Composed by:Jason Pounds/Quincy MattHew Hanley
Produced by:J.LBS
Yeah
Yeah
Yeah
Yeah
Huh
Stupid-ass sh don't wanna hear none of that ****
On God
Uh yeah
Wake up I'm on the night shift don't do me wrong
Pull up I need my sidekick come get me on
On on turn me on
Slow down follow the process I'm in the zone
One umbrella two pairs come you play your rose
Euros really I'm out here I'm in the pros
Black man made it the hard way he think he Hov
So mad looking at my **** it could be yours
911 **** a black folk I got the Porsche
Two time felon behind the gates it's a resort
Gotta watch for these devils that steal
Your **** and get control
Careful on that road dumb lil nigga
Getting low on what he owe
While I'm doing what he don't
'Til then free the locs
Another rapper turn joke
Joke
Another so-so Goddman homie
Nigga please let it go
Let it go
Uh
God bless the dead move from the past
Ay yeah
Nine million all cash hmm
Ay ay
It's like my overtime flex
Ballin'
**** is she satisfied
Yes oh my
Break it off the side
Hate y'all
No secret I'm on the road
They played y'all not with us
Do what you told
Money do cartwheels backflippin' gold
I don't take advice from niggas with no h*es
Nigga you talk so much you's the h*e
I live rent-free boy y'all controlled
I need four commas Money **** zeroes
Oh oh oh-oh-oh
Su su su suu
Wake up hop out the phone booth I'm on the way
Grew up on Figueroa street I saw the blade
Lil bo' scrawny nigga for sure was catching fades
Raised by all women and still I never caved
Took it three times extended from greatness I display
Home of the brave ran by the slaves
Stole e'rybody name so white Jesus on the chain
I feel proud when it hangs
Try to hide from the fame and still came with a bang
I'm a Figg nigga turned a black cloud to a flame
I'm a big wheelin' stomach full mouth full of paint
It was God-given lil' nigga took it too far
I'm a lone star street-smart and I'm book-smart
That's the d**e part uh yeah
Look at my report card
Boy supposed to hit the four-yard
A man supposed to have scars
Ayy
Nigga it ain't that hard
When I'm groovin' in the nascar
To Hoover Street I'm Mozart
Boy livin' on a postcard
Smooth steerin' for the hard R
**** y'all
My nig
Yeah
They thought I was crazy
Haha they said I was cra
They thought I was crazy