Hymns

Lyrics

[Verse] Look, it's not much these niggas could do with me Could never be in my circle of trust if you're thinking foolishly And usually, if they can't destroy the person you are Then by far it wouldn't be hard to go after that man that you used to be I can tell y'all ain't used to me And truthfully, whether the studio is treated acoustically Every verse'll be beautifully crafted This Hall of Fame talent was never drafted, they look past it Now next to they company name's an asterisk I'm humbly named the last pick, feel bad for him? Shit, you remember a Tom Brady But forget all the teams that passed on him And they ain't even asked for him They say that you could possibly starve by looking ahead too quickly, I call that a fast forward Or maybe a Lebron James, never wanted a star's fame It never made sense, money comes and that's when it all changed Damn, a prime minister ordained, want more fame Your fabulous life could turn into Paul Cain's No disrespect, a brother for life but it's still a disconnect 'Cause I could lose my life for a stare, so I can't miss a step Yeah, this game of life, better learn it now It's always the biggest rats with these mouses moving the curse around Arguing if the earth is round, these worthless clowns Gotta be silenced they need guidance, I'll cross that bridge when I burn it down Yeah, don't turn your back on the truth, it'll never leave You better breathe, you should face the music and turn around [Chorus] Yeah, I'ma give you these ghetto hymns Forty ounce bottles and leather Timbs, riding metal rims Niggas gathering at them pearly gates, hope he let us in Funerals, your clothes and your sneakers go to your next of kin Damn, these ghetto hymns Your friends help to even the score, but pray that you never win Stamps in the collection plate, wait, even the reverend sins Watching the devil grin, damn, these ghetto hymns I'ma give you these ghetto hymns Forty ounce bottles and leather Timbs, riding metal rims Niggas gathering at them pearly gates, hope he let us in Funerals, your clothes and your sneakers go to your next of kin Damn, these ghetto hymns Your friends help to even the score, but pray that you never win Stamps in the collection plate, wait, even the reverend sins Watching the devil grin, these ghetto hymns