Letra de Time Killers - ScHoolboy Q

(Feat. [])

Yeah (Yeah)

Yeah

Yeah

Huh

Yeah

(Stupid-ass sh—, don't wanna hear none of that shit)

On God

Uh, yeah

Wake up, I'm on the night shift, don't do me wrong

Pull up, I need my sidekick, come get me on

On, on, turn me on

Slow down, follow the process, I'm in the zone

One umbrella, two pairs come, you play your rose

Euros, really I'm out here, I'm in the pros

Black man made it the hard way, he think he Hov

So mad looking at my shit, it could be yours

911 fuck a black folk, I got the Porsche

Two time felon, behind the gates it's a resort

Gotta watch for these devils that steal your shit and get control

Careful on that road, dumb lil nigga getting low on what he owe

While I'm doing what he don't, 'til then free the locs

Another rapper turn joke (Joke)

Another so-so (Goddman, homie)

Nigga, please let it go (Let it go)

Uh

God bless the dead, move from the past, hmm (Ay, yeah)

Nine million, all cash, hmm (Ay, ay)

It's like my overtime flex (Ballin')

Fuck, is she satisfied? Yes (Oh my, yeah)

(Break it off the side witcha)

(Hate y'all) No secret, I'm on the road

They played y'all, not with us (Do what you're told)

Money do cartwheels, backflippin' gold

I don't take advice from niggas with no hoes (Haha)

Nigga, you talk so much, you's the hoe

I live rent-free, boy, y'all controlled (Oh)

I need four commas (Money, fuck zeroes)

Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh (Su, su, su, suu)

Wake up, hop out the phone booth, I'm on the way

Grew up on Figueroa Street, I saw the blade (Su)

Lil ol' scrawny nigga for sure was catching fades

Raised by all women and still I never caved

Took it three times, extended from greatness, I display

Home of the brave, ran by the slaves

Stole e'rybody name so white Jesus on the chain

I feel proud when it hangs

Try to hide from the fame and still came with a bang

I'm a Figg nigga, turned a black cloud to a flame

I'm a big wheelin', stomach full, mouth full of paint

It was God-given, lil' nigga took it too far

I'm a lone star, street-smart and I'm book-smart

That's the dope part, uh, yeah

Look at my report card

Boy, supposed to hit the four-yard

A man supposed to have scars (Ayy)

Nigga, it ain't that hard

When I'm groovin' in the NASCAR

To Hoover Street, I'm Mozart

Boy, livin' on a postcard

Smooth steerin' for the hard R

Fuck y'all (My nig—)

Yeah

They thought I was crazy

Haha, they said I was cra—

They thought I was crazy

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