Lyrics

[Chorus] Grew up doin odd jobs, tryna make the ends meet Comfy in my knock-offs, riding on my ten speed Eager for some money (I need some motherfuckin' money) So I'm really 'bout whatever (I'm really 'bout whatever in this bitch) [Verse 1: Travis Thompson] Okay, I burned a couple CDs, flipped a twenty to a noodle pack Kept a Franklin on me, as a youngin' been a frugal cat Couple my friends parents was some smokers, some had stupid racks I maneuver both of 'em for what it was, we used to that I been in my lucid bag, havin' vivid dreams about it Making shit to eat with moldy wheat, mama said eat around it Never make believe, pawnin' PSPs, we ain't need allowance Now I tell a goofy he can keep his thousands I've been twistin' up since ten, hit the K2 at eleven Thought my limbs was falling off and I still think they on by threadings Hit the salvia at thirteen, threw up, had the worst dreams Sayin', "pass it, pass it," now they laughin'-laughin', sayin', "Travis-Travis, is it working?" I'm Scantron test circling like "fuck it", none of us going to college Porcelain grip and I'm tourin' in middle America, none of us know when to call it Bit off the muscle with no anabolic Willin' to hustle, I'm young and unpolished The first shit I heard at the park was The Chronic Like, "Fuck is up, bitch? I'm Kurupt," an Impala like "ooh" This that mainline, that chaos to my bloodstream Got a great mind for the deaf sales and a day job where she fuck me Hit a new drop like a Flex bomb, odd jobs for a check, dawg Since Nesquik in my sippy cup, like, "Anyone doing a line?" [Chorus] Grew up doin odd jobs, tryna make the ends meet Comfy in my knock-offs, riding on my ten speed Eager for some money (Eager for some money) So I'm really 'bout whatever (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) [Bridge: Travis Thompson & Khris P] Everybody wanna die in they sleep, wanna ride when it's beef Go and rely on that pride, when it's time, you will see That the world don't care That the world don't care (Yeah, hold on) [Verse 2: Khris P] Hot Topic blacked out like I'm gothic, doing odd jobs Dennis Rodman, on that bullshit since '91 Who the fuck want what? I never understood what they runnin' from Put 'em on a bench, they press no effort I flex, they stress better I put 'em undercover and spray 'em like bedwetters Was a bad-ass kid, threw fits like trendsetters X on my back, Off-White on my black sweater, yeah [Verse 3: Glenn, Khris P, Glenn & Khris P] I just had sex on my BMX I whip a Harley bike with two different bitches that I just bench-pressed They star-struck, eyeball Glenn, fuck 'em at Starbucks I really do think that you all suck, really better get down, all sluts Like, "aw shit", beatin' 'em down like a mosh pit Writin' my name on a ball bat, knockin' 'em out, Barry Bonds, bitch Really be thinkin' I'm God, look, I am nothin' but an odd man Steady flippin' all these odd jobs, I don't be doin' no off-brand [Chorus] Grew up doin odd jobs, tryna make the ends meet Comfy in my knock-offs, riding on my ten speed Eager for some money (Eager for some money) So I'm really 'bout whatever (Really 'bout whatever) Grew up doin odd jobs, tryna make the ends meet Hoopties in my car port and now I need a Benz fleet Eager for some money (Eager for some money) So I'm really 'bout whatever (I'm really 'bout whatever, swear to God) [Outro] Tyler might've did something Hey Mr. Smith do you need a dog walker?