Symba (USA) - Symba Freestyle | LA Leakers Freestyle #104

Symba (USA) - Symba Freestyle | LA Leakers Freestyle #104 lyrics | Song Text

[Intro]
Check
Alright, feel me on this, J
I say, look

[Verse 1: Symba, Justin Credible]
With so much to say, where should I start?
They finally let the best-kept secret come out the vault
I played my part and I never took shit to heart
So now that I got my time, ya'll niggas gon' let me talk
I'm young but I seen a lot
At 16 I watched the feds hit the spot and run in my mommy's restaurant
I watched my cuz sniff dope through a neti pot
This why I care less about these rappers turned debutants
I was independent at 14 when Webby dropped
Having rap battles with Twan and Fats in Antioch
With one eye on the prize like Fetty Wap
I went into a pool full of money and did a belly flop
Ay, J
I was on the phone with Wallo and he was telling me to watch out for these hoes I knock
I had to tell him that
I ain't no ni*** who just started getting pussy 'cause his song got hot
I had a car before I had a daydream
I had a crib before I knew how to cook when I was like 18 (Makes sense)
Most nights, it was top ramen and baked beans
But I done thug it out before asking moms for anything (Yes)
Now I'm in the hills with no service
Tryna dodge bitches who be fucking without a purpose
I will never let a woman make me feel less of a man
Because I don't wanna buy her a Birkin (Okay)
She send me back to the streets and I send you back to your momma house
Happy hour dining, free drinks, and back to your momma couch
You just want a ni*** with status to feel established
But there ain't enough room in this foreign for all your baggage (Yo)
There's a certain addiction with ni***s
And tricking and making it hard for women to tell who isn't
See you sorta Jordan and Pippen, you score and assist 'em
I'm like Stockton and Malone, once I pick 'em I'mma roll
I'm gon' hit them and get gone, I know that's probably wrong
But I married this money and I can't break a happy home
We 'bout to drop a tape so it's time I set the tone
You got me in my zone, but Harry O, we on


[Interlude: DJ Sourmilk, Justin Credible & Symba]
Symba, hold on!
Where the fire extinguishers out here, man?
I ain't done
I tell 'em, how do I say

[Verse 2: Symba, Justin Credible]
Ay, to all y'all in my DM about a feature
I'm only giving verses for the Leakers (Thank you)
I done worked too hard to give verses this hard for ni***s
Who budget that can't cover my sneakers, Lord Jesus (Lord Jesus)
My bars on some vet shit
Rookie of the Year, I been on my Lewis Belt shit
They tell me slow it down for a second
But I'm like a crackhead who don't listen, I just can't help it
The mood on Mamba, look how he been in the genre, he's so Big Poppa
Who else could make 8 different flows through an entendre?
I can double 'em, I can triple 'em, I can chop 'em, I can speed the flow up, slow 'em down and swap
And I can pretty much do anything but stop
I come from a place where they hate to see you on top but love on you on the block
And once you start getting money, they look at you like an opp (Oh)
My momma always said treat the janitor like a boss
'Cause everybody plays a role to keep you from taking a loss (Facts)
Honesty is preferred, respect is what you earn
And trust is something you gain, when loyalty is returned
I'm out in Turks plotting on property in the Burbs
Tryin' not to splurge, and get the ghetto back from the nerds
This billion dollar vision, that's word to my ni*** Bird
Can't be behind gates from a selfish mistake
These ni***s waitin till it's too late to do straight
They try to recycle the same people that they threw away
Never get paper to turn plastic
Bottle your actions and chasing your satisfaction through bitches reactions, gimme another one


[Interlude: DJ Sourmilk, Justin Credible & Symba]
(...)

[Verse 3]
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