Ain't Something Wrong - JT The Bigga Figga

Ain’t something wrong

I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay

But I’m in a drug zone

Relax your mind and let your conscience free

And I’ma tell you how a player used to stack his G’s

Used to hit the strips with the fuckin' clips in my pocket

Mind on mail, so change the powder into rockets

Came up off an ozone, now I’m pushing boulders

Off of doja on the flame with the rest of the soldiers

Flipped my first bucket at the age of 14

A four-door Nova, thought my shit was too clean

A young hustler tryna be like them G’s

My homeboy Fat Rat, The Stone and Tim B

Can’t forget about my homie Beeda Weeda

We used to strike the buckets all the way to Cupertino

Hot sunny day, man, the block was scorching

Fools in them drop point-O's straight torching

Sacks on top of sacks to get their buzz on

And by the way, young player, you in the drug zone

Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)

I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay

But I’m in a drug zone

Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)

I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay

But I’m in a drug zone

Hustling over chillin' 'cause it ain’t no time to kick it

Never been a baller but I’mtryna stack a ticket

Chopping down my O’s, put my money on froze

Slammin' Cadillac doors and on them multiple stoves

It’s just a dream, but dreams could be reality

Put it in perspective, collective and check the salary

Mandatory that I pop at you bustas, could never stop it

Dwellin' in the lab and on the daily tryna chop it

Monopolizing, enterprising, now in 1995 we’re realizing

That we got to do for self, so self is independent

Stacking up all the pay and making wealth and feeling splendid

Making G’s, nigga please

I used to hit the blocks to sell my rocks and roll up the green leaves

Now I’m all about my fetti

On the other side of the game and game tight and moving steady

Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)

I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay

But I’m in a drug zone

Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)

I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay

But I’m in a drug zone

Yeah, I’ma send that out to my homeboy Travy Lo, to my young homie Pierre,

to my OG Potna Rondo, to all the fallen soldiers, mayne

One love, that’s real

Now fools think they can jump in the game

And be an overnight star with money and fame

I had to work for my status, got the baddest apparatus

If you’re paying your dues, then fa sho, you can have this

Time’ll tell, you might as well

Come to the L-A-double B and check your mail

'Cause niggas be clocking their grip but coming up and stacking G’s

Pulling up in the lab and on the daily with them R-A-P's

Please take yourself and see and feel the beat

'Cause the flavor don’t stop now, us players gon' clock now

Represent the game because the game don’t stop

So you got to get your paper 'til it’s time to pop

Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)

I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay

But I’m in a drug zone

Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)

I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay

But I’m in a drug zone