"Sugar Hill (Freestyle)" lyrics
Uh
Banks
Shit is real, baby
Shit is real, baby
Yo, uh
Ain't got no time for b-rolling I'm thinking classics
My back is against the wall, armor-plated with ratchets
Perhaps there's something wrong with my mind and I'm thinking backwards
But it seems the Devil latches on you harder when you got the package
Fuck understanding, all we ask is.. you stay in your lane
Embrace your bracket, clip of acid in my army jacket
Certain the day I retire I'm in the rafters
You actors and ungroomed bastards in need of practice
Still getting wiser, OD off my appetizer
Nothing left to do but strive until we're back to back on Spyders
And the hood on fire
God bless the child that turned provider
Your Honor, I swore to live good, excuse my karma
Righteous scrambler, ducking propaganda
Spank and AR hold the crib down, number than when they shot Montana
In front your plan I hold a hostile manner
They want you in and out the slammer, keep you out of fly Coupes and cameras
Paper high as my demand is
Bring life to the canvas, give it all back
Shit, I'd be damned if I just said I'll vanish
Millionaire at the minimum
Seek to mesmerize and seems the kicks'll come when you're down, it couldn't be better timing
The finest diner, here's to enterprising
Build a Empire, not to be televised, as time goes on it's hella diamonds
Still pissed I can't rewind the glitches
Only time for business
Jumping hurdles, it'll work itself out in chaotic fitness
Exotic wishes made the polished dishes
My chase a dollar hit list
Make sure my babies get they college tickets
On my a-game, they wanna see me off it
That faking leaves me awkward
Me and you clashing, that's an easy forfeit
You build your energy up and they wanna freebie off it just to seem important
Coward out on your CB4 shit
They trifling, guessing, leads to false perception
You aiming at me, wrong direction
Priceless gems all in my song collection
"Let me hold something" is a normal question
I cut the dead weight off, it's all progression
Tearing comes along with flexing
Evidence of slaughter in rooms I'm recording in
Trees to gift my seeds and audience in Gucci ornaments
Shit is real, baby
Shit is real, baby
Uh
Sugar Hill, baby
Sugar Hill, baby
Uh
Banks
Shit is real, baby
Shit is real, baby
Yo, uh
Ain't got no time for b-rolling I'm thinking classics
My back is against the wall, armor-plated with ratchets
Perhaps there's something wrong with my mind and I'm thinking backwards
But it seems the Devil latches on you harder when you got the package
Fuck understanding, all we ask is.. you stay in your lane
Embrace your bracket, clip of acid in my army jacket
Certain the day I retire I'm in the rafters
You actors and ungroomed bastards in need of practice
Still getting wiser, OD off my appetizer
Nothing left to do but strive until we're back to back on Spyders
And the hood on fire
God bless the child that turned provider
Your Honor, I swore to live good, excuse my karma
Righteous scrambler, ducking propaganda
Spank and AR hold the crib down, number than when they shot Montana
In front your plan I hold a hostile manner
They want you in and out the slammer, keep you out of fly Coupes and cameras
Paper high as my demand is
Bring life to the canvas, give it all back
Shit, I'd be damned if I just said I'll vanish
Millionaire at the minimum
Seek to mesmerize and seems the kicks'll come when you're down, it couldn't be better timing
The finest diner, here's to enterprising
Build a Empire, not to be televised, as time goes on it's hella diamonds
Still pissed I can't rewind the glitches
Only time for business
Jumping hurdles, it'll work itself out in chaotic fitness
Exotic wishes made the polished dishes
My chase a dollar hit list
Make sure my babies get they college tickets
On my a-game, they wanna see me off it
That faking leaves me awkward
Me and you clashing, that's an easy forfeit
You build your energy up and they wanna freebie off it just to seem important
Coward out on your CB4 shit
They trifling, guessing, leads to false perception
You aiming at me, wrong direction
Priceless gems all in my song collection
"Let me hold something" is a normal question
I cut the dead weight off, it's all progression
Tearing comes along with flexing
Evidence of slaughter in rooms I'm recording in
Trees to gift my seeds and audience in Gucci ornaments
Shit is real, baby
Shit is real, baby
Uh
Sugar Hill, baby
Sugar Hill, baby
Uh
