"Flight Risk" lyrics
Boldy James & The Alchemist Lyrics
Chyeah
Chyeah
Ayy, where we at?
Let's get it, uh
I know Sergio, I know Tacchini plug, do Gianni, nigga, no Versace
Still servin' blow out the 'Ghini, steppin' on the coke like a pair of 'Raches
In the spizzy runnin' up a check, with them thirty-sixes and them R Kells
Heard that nigga tell a lot of shark tales and I'm really not that impressed (At all)
Me and 30 ate off of Archdale, caught a burger, flake, and a jar sale
Now I'm in the Wraith lookin' like a star field, checkin' in at the Fontainebleau (Where we at?)
Tied in, I got drug ties, me and Papi Bricks hoppin' out the coupe
Cuzzo finna make a mud slide, he just dropped a fish in the Mountain Dew
It was process of elimination, now we chewin' like an overbite (Eatin')
Everybody so opinionated, keep your two cents, don't need your advice (I don't)
In the gutter lane like a bowling ball, always been a Mr. Know-it-all (Rollin')
If you can name it, I done sold it all, fluff of oil 'caine into a soda ball
Put the call in, send them country boys in them overalls (Where we at with it?)
Lil' dawg keep a strig on him, shit, it's just protocol
Headshot gang (Bah), we the mafia, let my four-fifth spit a sixteen (Brr)
I hear everybody claimin' gang time, and they don't even know what that shit mean
Where we at with it?
Ranned it up on the incline, maybe if I wasn't in the streets full time, would've been signed
Life of a mis-con, real street shit, ain't no sitcoms (No bitches)
Circle tight, nigga still a flight risk, nigga might skip bond (Jump bail)
Life of a mis-con, art of rock climbin' with a zipline (Been to court)
This blood sport, jumped off the front porch under the wind chime (Hell blocks)
Life of a block bleeder, facin' life, I had to risk mine (Put it on the line)
All these niggas cap like a Just Don (Snake ass niggas)
While I be in the trap with my Concreatures
I got high, I got high
Front door's open, I'll get it
Chyeah
Ayy, where we at?
Let's get it, uh
I know Sergio, I know Tacchini plug, do Gianni, nigga, no Versace
Still servin' blow out the 'Ghini, steppin' on the coke like a pair of 'Raches
In the spizzy runnin' up a check, with them thirty-sixes and them R Kells
Heard that nigga tell a lot of shark tales and I'm really not that impressed (At all)
Me and 30 ate off of Archdale, caught a burger, flake, and a jar sale
Now I'm in the Wraith lookin' like a star field, checkin' in at the Fontainebleau (Where we at?)
Tied in, I got drug ties, me and Papi Bricks hoppin' out the coupe
Cuzzo finna make a mud slide, he just dropped a fish in the Mountain Dew
It was process of elimination, now we chewin' like an overbite (Eatin')
Everybody so opinionated, keep your two cents, don't need your advice (I don't)
In the gutter lane like a bowling ball, always been a Mr. Know-it-all (Rollin')
If you can name it, I done sold it all, fluff of oil 'caine into a soda ball
Put the call in, send them country boys in them overalls (Where we at with it?)
Lil' dawg keep a strig on him, shit, it's just protocol
Headshot gang (Bah), we the mafia, let my four-fifth spit a sixteen (Brr)
I hear everybody claimin' gang time, and they don't even know what that shit mean
Where we at with it?
Ranned it up on the incline, maybe if I wasn't in the streets full time, would've been signed
Life of a mis-con, real street shit, ain't no sitcoms (No bitches)
Circle tight, nigga still a flight risk, nigga might skip bond (Jump bail)
Life of a mis-con, art of rock climbin' with a zipline (Been to court)
This blood sport, jumped off the front porch under the wind chime (Hell blocks)
Life of a block bleeder, facin' life, I had to risk mine (Put it on the line)
All these niggas cap like a Just Don (Snake ass niggas)
While I be in the trap with my Concreatures
I got high, I got high
Front door's open, I'll get it
Writer(s): Alan Maman, James Clay Jones
