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• Artiste: Larry June
• Titre: Palo Santo
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Spitta, what's happenin'? My motherfuckin' brotha, man (Uh) (Ay ay ay, ay ay ay) (Larry!) Sometimes I wonder if this life really meant for me (Mm) I got the money and the fame, but is it meant for me? (Is it meant for me?) I used to be in a race with my own freedom (Damn) I been through a whole lot, man, you wouldn't believe it (Uh) I used to pray that I would hit for a thousand grams A one-way Greyhound out to AZ A teardrop on my face, them was my lowest times (Uh) Thankful 'cause them days really made me, me (Yeah) If you can't do the time, don't do the crime I'm borderline one of the hottest niggas that done hit the mic (Done hit the mic) If you go do it, nigga, do it right (I do it right) SF90 with the chinky eyes (Doing numbers) Sock it to my pocket like John Rocket Layin' low, 12 on my back like John Stockton (Good job) Gucci link, '88 like, who coppin'? Just for the kit on the coupe cost two dollars (Keep going) Make a juice in the morning, count a couple dollars Light the Palo Santo, toss on some Midnight If I ain't getting to it, I don't sleep right (I don't sleep right) Can't stop now, gotta' keep fight (Saying you could take it any way you want to) (You could take it as you wanna be like me, or you could take it as you wanna stay away from what I went through) Uh The sound of xylophones fill my home Smoke from the bong, Eastside my time zone Up jump the phone, hundred spokes, fresh chrome All a nigga want, but still I'm not dumb My Benz come with the cell phone, bitch, it's really on I had the new whip movin', had to backpedal on her Like, I'm busy at the moment, but I truly do want ya You cool up in here, mama, we got eyes on ya Yeah, they shooters, but they cool niggas, they really my homies Paved the driveway, I parked some Bentleys on it Done that shit my way, independent only If it's really money, I'm there in a jiffy huntin' I took everything, them niggas, they ain't really want it They never been inside the ring with a real opponent We ain't sparrin', I'ma scar 'em up and pick apart 'em Can't nobody call me off lil whatchu' call it? Cry for help, they self destructive alcoholics They barely G-league, and we playoff ballin' Double Ferraris, but that ain't funny mirrors, bitch they really in here And I'm being sincere, we been wearin' minks here Diamond Cuban links, we rinse 'em off in marble sinks, yeah These slated for '28, but I got 'em this year Yeah