Home - BJ The Chicago Kid

Uh, Lebron number nine

I guess whenever she ain’t on my dick, I’m on her mind

It’s quite cliche to just say that I’m on my grind

And phone conversations ain’t substitution for time in another city

Reminisce on days when I ain’t have a fucking penny

These groupie bitches in this game wasn’t fucking with me

Couldn’t get a dollar for a rap show

Got a gun, a ski mask and a half an ounce of crack, though

Slammin', in the pizza shop with Jacque

Last dollar on a slice, this contraband in my sock, wish you knew the feeling

We’re both so different, but our situations so appealing

Now I can’t make it without you girl, you my new religion

And every hustler needs a main thing

Baby, once I get it I’mma make your last name change

Uh, said every hustler needs a main thing

Baby, once I get it I’mma make your last name change

Gibbs, uh

We still socking

Glock is still popping

Paper still dropping

Lord, it ain’t stopping

Girl, I’m coming home, as soon as I get this paper

Yeah, the blocks still cracking, and girl, know what I’m packing

And if you pop off, you gon' know what I’m jacking

But I’m coming home, as soon as I get this paper

Ayo, summertime, 105°

Getting mine, the smoke line

They want the kush, the Cali kind

I smoke with' her, I choke with' it, get dosed with' her

A go-getter, helped me come up from a broke nigga

The home team

And she ain’t just in my pocket, she got her own cream

Sometimes I slip at the mouth, I might say the wrong thing

And once we fight, it’s back to fucking

My polos and my timbos out the window, but its nothin, what

Uh, said once we fight, it’s back to fucking

I bend that ass right over on the sofa, like it’s nothing

So bust it open for a player, nose to your fucking toes

I’m coming home, don’t be tripping on them other hoes