Tragedy (feat. Bigga Rankin)

(Think it's a game?)

(Pipe that shit up, TnT)

(Real ****— Real ****— Real **** Radio)

(Ant Chamberlain, that's a hundred points)

The tragedy in a man's life is not having lived while you was alive

Learning to love and lose is a part of life

It's never having loved anyone or anything that's the biggest loss of all

Wish Me Well 3, the streets is waitin'

Yeah, look, never put your trust in a ****, my mama told me that

I can't do no dirt with you ****, you can't wait to rat

Big homie keep sayin' he got me, I can't wait on that

No offense, but I'ma go get mine, just pray I make it back

Okay, my main man down, his brother died and he want pay back

Have you ever seen a grown man cry in a Maybach?

Talkin' to God, the hood do anything to have Lay back

Lord know we'll do anything to have Quay back

Look, free Dog, Joe and Kenny, I can't wait to see y'all

Miss me with that sucker shit, boy, don't piss me off

We ain't duckin' no wrecks, I just wrecked my new haul

Had to cut the dead weight, I ain't no damn U-Haul

Long live KO

It's hard to spot the snakes when the grass grow

And everybody fake, but it gon' soon show

The street dirty, what you think I keep a broom for?

Huh, all this damn pain, I be needin' medication

I ain't need no education, I just stayed in rotation

Real ****

Never let a sucker violate me, I'm a gravedigger

Stop comparin' me to your big homie, bitch, I'm way bigger

Huh, ring on my finger, that shit way bigger

Huh, thinkin' they them ****, bitch, we way bigger, huh,huh

I had to cut lil' shorty off, that **** too bitter

Before the song, I had them racks in the middle, huh

Now I say big bankroll, can't fit them racks in my denim

Ayy, my lil' rich-ass bro been gettin' racks since he was little, huh

Me and money back to back splats, we was little, huh

Before I was the man, I was the man in the middle, huh

Oh, before the bank jugg, we had plans to get richer, huh

Playin' with that pistol, I got a plan for my lil' one, huh

Look, they know I cashed out, I ain't put down on no nothin', huh

I ain't lookin' for no handout, I don't want nothin' from no ****, huh

Six years later, house got elevators

House got hella acres, nosy-ass neighbors

I got my own label, huh

I don't need no money machine, I count my own paper

Look, tell me why these so-called thugs act like they shootin' shit up

But **** don't got guns, these **** so made up

Talk tough online, these **** funny as fuck

Mm, mm