Reason - Drive slow / taste like heaven

Yeah
Bunta-bunta-bunta-bunt-bunta-bunta-bunt
My grandfather used to tell me like

The good die young, everything that he said proven
Ever since Del died, they got my head ruined
My prayers go out to his loved ones, I'm sittin' here fucked up
Can't remember the last thing that I said to him, man this shit crazy
Was it the closest, nah, but every meet was special
Got me recruitin' shit, we almost shared a team together
Worked on our jumper, cone drills, we shared our dream together
And now that nigga gone, but I mean whatever
Not a disrespectful whatever, more like "Reason you never
Made the effort, and now you preachin' that he's special'"
Touché, those hypocritical lies
These my thoughts while in traffic, takin' off my nigga ties
It's been a long day, but tomorrow I'm paid
Been slavin' and workin' hard, prayin' I get a raise
This that drive slow music, in traffic textin' bitches from your iPhone music
You text, you wanna see it, she like, "I know stupid"
Instantly you think about how loud she be screamin' when you dickin' her out
You in the hood, you could've been plottin' how to get out
But you text your address, now her nigga in route

So drive slow, ya' never know (Drive slow, drive)
'Cause nowadays bitches fuck niggas to get some dough (Drive, drive)
And errbody itchin' to figure a way to blow
As long as you chasin' money you won't lose a single hoe, my nigga
Drive slow
(Drive slow, drive slow, drive slow)
Look, you never know, homie, about these hoes, homie
You need to pump your brakes nigga

Free my nigga Fonz, he taught me this rap shit at an early age
The pressure from it can send you into an early grave
Be dead tired tryna make a living from it
Get the little things, take it and get bigger from it
Niggas runnin' the game with catchy beats and labels, that don't do shit
Put every dollar behind it to push your new shit
Prayin' the right nigga hear it to make a couple of millions
I swear this shit feel like it's higher stakes than Ruth's Chris
And label beatings like you know that I'm spittin'
I know that they listen, they know every lyric, and they respond like
"REASON, dye your hair, they gotta know that you different"
I know my presence lackin' but you know that I'm gifted
I'm tryna kill these niggas
My name should be ringin', I need that bell from niggas
But being real, I don't put enough to myself here
Gotta figure out a way to make music they wanna play
'Cause niggas quit their dreams everyday and press play


And drive slow, ya' never know
'Cause nowadays bitches fuck niggas to get some dough (Drive, drive)
And errbody itchin' to figure a way to blow
As long as you chasin' money you won't lose a single hoe, my nigga
Drive slow
(Drive slow, drive slow)
Look, you never know, homie, about these hoes, homie
You need to

Take 'em to church

Whoo-hoo-hoo
Gettin' out on a Sunday, it's so sweet (So, so, so, so)
Tastes like a little bit of heaven
Whoo-hoo-hoo
Gettin' out on a Sunday, it's so sweet baby (So soulful, so soulful)
Tastes like a little bit of heaven

Look, what you know 'bout bein' the coldest nigga killin' shit? Lyrics filled with gold
And everything you said was platinum, but ain't no records sold
Been tryna get my name a ring (a ring) but ain't no one proposed
I swear that nigga you've been waitin' for right under your nose
Look I've been doing a lotta thinkin' homie
Wish I had a dollar for every time niggas was sleepin' on me
No new friends, no, no, no, no, last thing I need is homies
'Cause my crew tighter than virgin pussy
Lately been curvin' groupies and bitches I wanted to toss me out after they throwin' pussy
Man that shit crazy, look, my girl don't want me to catch stacks
When every move can change your life, then every step's a death trap
Niggas claim they flow is nice, but nigga I'm screamin' let's test that
'Cause I swear I don't believe these niggas
Can be anything in the world, but I don't wanna be these niggas
I make my music for the streets, I'm tryna reach these niggas
Take one more peek my family tree and I can't leave my niggas, that's leavin' tree
Best out, shit you could bet that, uh
Mil huntin', comin' after meals like wet naps, work too hard to be set back
From rookie Kobe air ballin' to becomin' nicer than Paul Pierce with a step back
So limits, we gon' test that
They gotta know we were sent here to be kings
They gotta know we gon' get iy

Yo, yo, P, I think this is the spot, think this is the spot
(Oh this definitely the spot, they got strobe lights out here? Flo got us at the disco)
Nigga, it's some bitches at this one, I can't wait
(Look at the disco nigga, this nigga IT was dancin' on niggas)
Fuck IT, this shit does look lit out here, let me throw my shit in the trunk too, let's go
Yeah, yeah, P, pass me your shit, Paul, gimme your shit too, we gon' put everythng in the trunk

Writers: Robert Gill

Lyrics © Songtrust Ave

Lyrics licensed by LyricFind