J. Stalin Dreamin Lyrics

City of death, homicide on every corner;

Eight in the mornin’ I’m at the mall tryna buy some Jordan’s;

Call me a hoarder, tennis shoes everywhere;

But when you sellin’ coke, you don’t have a care.

I’m talkin Peruvian, pure coke white as Cher;

Got it in the trunk like a spare tire;

Money on his head that’s murder for hire;

I seen a fiend sell his soul for a dime rock;

Then he came right back and sold his son’s X-Box;

I pray to the Lord, this shit gotta stop.

Everybody walk around with 2’s on repo[?];

Speakin in codes, tryna get the line on the kilos;

They tappin phones and tryna give us to Rico;

I’m tryna get rich and give back to the people.

CEO no nigga you ain’t my equal;

See before, I can see the fake in you;

Cuz you never act like a real nigga do;

Niggas talkin and knocks throwin surprise parties.

But we ready for the beef, nigga Arbie’s;

Livewire MC, you see us on them Harley’s;

Yeah, it was me nord and bang bang[?]

Nigga, tryna make a mil a day.

[Hook:]

Lyin on my side, in my hand there’s a grenade;

On the corner grindin since the tenth grade;

Cuz I only like to dream about, gettin paid;

Cuz I only like to dream about, gettin pain;

40 on my side in my hand there’s a grenade;

Still sellin dope, since the tenth grade;

Cuz I only like to dream about, gettin paid;

Cuz I only like to dream about, gettin paid.

Money on my mind, landlord at the door;

Tryna kick a nigga out cuz I’m sellin dope;

Import export, money in the transaction;

Bangers on me always, killas in my fuckin faction.

You niggas savin bitches like Ansel[?] Jackson;

These hoes settin niggas up and ask ’em what happened;

He gotta have it my nigga and he just can’t kick it;

Therefore, his digits is limited.

[Hook]

Livin life wicked, tryna touch a mil ticket;

Get it on the streets then send it to the niggas in prison;

Cuz I can see you fake niggas through this tunnel vision;

Disloyal see a nigga shot and then his blood boil;

In the kitchen my mama cookin it to the oil;

Get the birds cross state, to the Georgetown hoils[?];

Now I’m in the Porsche, it feel like 500 horses;

Now I’m in the Porsche, it feel like 500 horses.

[Hook]