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lirik lagu make no sense – chris ray’s music

[verse 1]
i feel like i’m the best rapper coming out the ‘sip
only n*gga made it out the hood not selling bricks
ain’t no listening to you; do what i want. it’s f*ck yo sh*t
got this hot girl ass on my lap and she wanna drive the ship
it makes no sense; it leave you restless
leave you breathless; this is wreckless
get the message; full*court pressing
this that pressure; it’s depressing
can’t get with it? get to stepping
my first lesson is a blessing
ain’t no reason; hope you see, son
my demeanor is egregious
she be slurpin, she be jerkin, she twerkin, she be merkin
she be workin, she bl*w j*bs. put in ot giving bl*wj*bs
n*ggas be wanting to collab. half the time it make no sense
what i look like spending my time and money building yo sh*t
they wanna see me with that sub*zero frozen all on my wrist
and flipping bricks and f*cking b*tches, syrup*sipping, henny*dripping
power*tripping, stacking figures, blowing digits and be and be a victim
every time on this m*i*c, i cook and eat every beat
bring the recipe to make a n*gga rest in peace
if you sleep on me, it’s eternally
it’s a scarface movie if he turn on me
it’s a freaknik fl!ck if she turn me on
put her hands on me, blow the d*ck like a bong
picture her ass on my chest. i call that sh*t a polo*roid (polaroid)
no frank ocean ’cause i swim good when i hit her ocean floor

[verse 2]
n*ggas shot the heat at my brother, oh
my dad was fresh with the bankroll, ay
when them n*ggas tried to rape my older sister
i was young but had weapons on deck
still hug my little sister. better know that
and i’m the man if he wanna talk to momma
when i’m all alone with her
family over everything in mississippi
i was in the bathroom in elementary
tryna figure what the .44 for
way before wendy’s
didn’t see the movie but had my dog with me
in the winn*dixie
tryna make it through the jungle riding on the jitney
stayed in the projects
then in the projects
then in apartments
then in the projects
then moved in a crib
then moved to a crib
then in apartments
then moved to a crib
then to my uncle house
then to my grandma house
then to the motel
then to apartments
that turned to the projects
then moved in a crib
right outside the city
then to the college dorm
then to my own apartment, uh

[verse 3]
moral of the story, n*gga: gotta thank my folks
raised a n*gga out the mud
watched him grow into the goat
i’m kicking, pushing, grinding. like lupe, a n*gga coast*to*coast
if you on that presidential, 2020, need your vote
i ain’t blowing but your girl can’t say the same and that’s for sure
these fake n*ggas and b*tches flood ig and twitter for show
these freestyles is all for you. the next project come from the soul. as of now, i feel like i’m lil weezy in 2009. this “no ceilings” in ya building
windows down when coupe de ville’ing
shoutout nba but this me balling in yo building
destruct yo disk. energy in my palm. n*ggas call me krillin
only different ‘tween me and him: he get k!lled and i make k!llings
i’m tryna make it. n*gga, you made it
but don’t get complacent. i’m still racing
make so sense how mom and dad made it
but make perfect sense how mom and dad made me
this is the process. life is a mosh pit
in a couple of months, you gone see “the progress”

- chris rays music

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