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Lil Poppa - Manifest (828)
Dj S.R.
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Nigga played during the day, then he dead the same night
Niggas left me by myself when shit went left and they ain't right
I see envy plain sight, wish I can get this fame bite
Seen the "I can like this" comments, you can't get your brain right
(Kankan, can't get back)
I said, "Lil' one, what you doing?" He said, "Getting my aim right"
Now why you worried 'bout who I'm screwing?
Them groupie bitches ain't my type
And she gon' slide when it's time to slide and that's the shit I like
Manifested shit like 828, bitch, I was on the same flight
Okay, now this one for my niggas, the ones that I can't bring back
Alright, now two times for them killers
On missions prayin' they make it back
Yeah, this a letter to the real ones '
Cause I ain't have the time to write
A letter to the ghetto children, ayy, lil' one, you gon' be alright
Okay, but fuck it, pocket full of chips, I just left game night
Then double cupped it, even though it
Ain't no good, it keep my brain right
I been getting buckets like I'm King James
Shoot like Dame, tryna get my range right
Told her give me head first, then later I might get her name right
Might go insane, still tryna heal
From pain, that's every day and night
With me, you only get one strike, then boy, you better play it right
It's very rare I play it twice, third time the charm, but I ain't nice
Fucked around and put my heart on ice
Wouldn't buy a bike no matter the price
But matter of fact, three hundred bookbags
To the hood, let's talk 'bout that
Let's talk 'bout facts, I'm the one that made you niggas wanna rap
The smallest one in the trap, I ain't see none of you niggas there
In this bitch with Dooda and Quelo, first ones in, last ones there
I said, "Lil' one, what you doing?" He said, "Getting my aim right"
Now why you worried 'bout who I'm screwing?
Them groupie bitches ain't my type
And she gon' slide when it's time to slide and that's the shit I like
Manifested shit like 828, bitch, I was on the same flight
Okay, now this one for my niggas, the ones that I can't bring back
Alright, now two times for them killers
On missions prayin' they make it back
Yeah, this a letter to the real ones '
Cause I ain't have the time to write
A letter to the ghetto children, ayy, lil' one, you gon' be alright
Now boy, you tripping talking to them
Pillows knowing that they ain't right
Like these bitches ain't the reason
Half of these niggas losing they life
He ain't hit, so I ain't bite, you better not miss, aim right
Tryna roll the six, same dice, ayy, make it quick, I got a flight
Thirty for the easy piece, now bitch, you know that come with ice
And if he involving me, now bitch, you know that come with Tyc
Brand new with aโ on it, you know it came with lights
Two twenty-three, nah, for real, probably got more Jordans than Mike
Probably got more hits than Ike, big knocks on me, G-Lock on me
I did not come here to fight, she wanna fuck on me, then fucks with me
I hate it, but I like it, let him get through
The day, we gon' be smoking him tonight
Look, he just posted, I'm finna like
I said, "Lil' one, what you doing?" He said, "Getting my aim right"
Now why you worried 'bout who I'm screwing?
Them groupie bitches ain't my type
And she gon' slide when it's time to slide and that's the shit I like
Manifested shit like 828, bitch, I was on the same flight
Okay, now this one for my niggas, the ones that I can't bring back
Alright, now two times for them killers
On missions prayin' they make it back
Yeah, this a letter to the real ones '
Cause I ain't have the time to write
A letter to the ghetto children, ayy, lil' one, you gon' be alright
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