Train of Thought III

There ain't ever been a time where I wasn't on my grind
 Money on my mind, it's the way I been designed
 Lord knows I ain't lyin' when I say that I try
 Not to focus on the money but I need it to survive
 Need a lil' for my Ma hard for her to find a job
 A lil' for my pops just to quit his nine to five
 A lil' for my wifey, she never get to shop
 And a lil' for my wrist and if you wanna know why
 Mama used to tap on my wrist in the aisle
 Premonition for the tap on my wrist in the aisle
 Take a look back who they laughing at now
 See the same lame bitches with they both hands out
 Cash app in they bio with they whole ass out
 I done conquered all my demons, where the battle at now?
 See them down another round, all xanned out
 So before you judge me, set the gavel back down
 On God I changed, and y'all been the same
 Wanna see me do good, never see me do great, man
 All y'all fake, fuck up out the way
 But I'm still gon' pray for y'all to ball anyway
 Fame callin' my name, lotta love, lotta hate
 Either way, that's a whole lotta money in the bank
 A lot on my plate, but before I get a taste
 I'ma make sure everybody get a piece of the steak
 Ay, yeah I grew up on that bullshit
 All my neighbors bangin', couldn't wear my red or blue shit
 All my neighbors slangin', told me always keep a full clip
 I was just a baby, man, this shit was so confusing
 Ain't want nothing to do with it
 Fellas on the block come and run me for my shoes
 I would come home in my socks, try to run straight to my room
 Mama told me, "Stop! How the hell'd you get that bruise?"
 Said I fell off of my bike, but she knew it ain't the truth
 I had sense, but my friends only had it for a bus ride
 Or an under table gun slide, I was uptight
 Couldn't even hit the blunt right
 Shit, I was like, what, nine?
 Now they all hit my line cause they know this shit really my job
 Bust a rhyme, get the dough
 I met me a white blond, she a scholar with a dome
 And she say my pipe bomb, so it's fire in the hole
 I'm a pull up one day in a Chevy Impala
 On a Sunday sinnin', dick in yo' mama
 We came a long way, hombre nunca tuve nada
 And haters gon' hate when they see I'm unbothered
 My neck chained up like a fuckin' rottweiler
 Nikes laced up, I ain't trippin', no time to
 Never laid up another day, another dollar
 We goin' straight up, "Houston, we got a problem"
 Promise you don't really want it with me
 Especially if you over 35 I'll take your daughter with me
 23, six figures and no college degree, why you still callin' me a wanna be?
 But honestly, a part of me like, I agree, because I'm everything you wanna be
 Drop a beat and best believe I'll provide the heat
 Yeah nobody stoppin' me, I'm mean, no apologies
 I body beats, no pardon me, I'm bombing beats atomically
 And leavin' prodigies of rap in need of lobotomies
 How the fuck you gon' bark at me then bark up my tree?
 I don't fuck with you bitch, you ain't talkin' to me
 So better hop up on that trampoline when I hit the scene
 Bounce, girls on magazines on my ding-a-ling
 Now, only sag my jeans so my dick can breathe
 Style, have it, damn it clean, fresh like Listerine
 Wow, big ballin' while you still up in the little leagues
 Child, you weren't fuckin' with me then
 Bet you're fuckin' with me now