Joyner Lucas - F Y M (508)-507-2209 (Audio Only)

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Joyner Lucas - F Y M (508)-507-2209 (Audio Only) was added to the Free2Music database on December 20, 2018. Published the day it was watched 744 times since. Other information about free music is below.

Music Information




Joyner Lucas



Lyrics Title

FYM (feat. Mystikal)




Hip-Hop Rap


Picture me putting my city all over the map
(Whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah)
They wasn't believers, I had to get even at math
(What, what, what, what)
Be coming, I'm pulling and jumping all over your grass
(Yeah, yeah, whoa, whoa, uh)
So tell all my bitches I got a new girl
Tell the police that I'm robbing the bank and I want all of my 50's in cash
Bitch, I'm tired of living, check to check
I need twenty models and some extra sex
Smiling in my grave, bitch I'm fresh to death
I've been drinking Wu-Tang with Inspectah Deck getting drunk
Yeah, I got some shit that I gotta just get off my chest
(Whoa, uh, uh, uh, yeah, damn)
I can admit I got lots on my list and you next (uh, uh)
Take it how you want it, I ain't famous like I want it
But I think I might just skrrt off, blow the speakers and turn up
Pop a bottle of Smirnoff, go to church with my shirt off
Tell the Lord that I'm here now, I've been waiting for so long
I've been patient for so long, breaking rules like there's no laws
And I did it for a long time
If you don't like me, take a ticket, there's a long line
Nice to meet me, hoe, I think the pleasure's all mine
Shit, they've been clocking me so long, I think they lost time

Ooh you lost your mind, nigga
Fuck you mean? Whoo! Hol' on
Goddamn it, nigga
Fuck you mean? Whoo!
And I don't trust a mothafucking soul
What the fuck you mean? Whoo!
Hol' up, whoa whoa whoa whoa
What the fuck you mean? Whoo! (Hol up now)

Don't know what you thinkin', compare me to niggas is nothing
(Uh, uh, uh, what, what)
Adrenaline pumping and blood'll be leaking and running
(Word, word, yeah, yeah, uh)
Shit, I do what I do, I don't care if you like it or love it
(Nah, nah, uh, uh, Joyner)
Tell all of my bitches I got a new girl, wait
And tell the police that I'm robbing the bank and I want all my money in 100s
Bitch, I'm tired of living on the edge
I wanna sell drugs but they gon' call the feds
I just bought a brick and that shit cost an arm and leg
My momma told me, "Take it back and get a job instead"
(Where's your common sense, nigga?)
Me and the devil got too much in common, I swear
(Damn, uh, uh, damn, uh)
Born in the ghetto, I never had nothing to fear (nah, nah)
Take it how you want it, I ain't famous like I want it
So, I might just throw a hissy fit
Call up Cassie, ask her if she broke up with Diddy yet
I said shawty, if she's talking I ain't hitting it
Cause she gon' call her friends up and brag about the shit we did
Whoa, I ain't into pillow talking, go chop off your lips
If I ain't in your top ten, go dive off a bridge
My block boys got Glock fours that'll knock off your lid
I doubt you gon' pop off, so hop off my dick

Nigga, fuck you mean? Whoo!
Goddamn it, I said fuck you mean?!
Listen, I don't trust a muthafucking soul
Nigga, no, nigga, fuck you mean?!
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
What the fuck you mean?!

You thought I was finished, you thought it was over?
You thought I retired, you thought I went fishing with Kobe?
Nigga, I'm still as the illest, considered as one of the coldest
Still-a pull apart in a rapper head like Moses, mm-hm
I'm throwback like I'm Motorola
But hoe, I'm cooler than a cup of yogurt
Black flag, Crip boy, truck soldier
I'm cool with drug lords and Ayatollah's
Rap god, cyclops and ogre
Bitch I'm King Kong, ain't nobody told ya?
Fuck you think bro still smoking?
Aww fuck it, I'm Bobby Brown, 'bout to go get loaded
Retarded Paul McCartney, bitch I'm rich
I'm Muhammad Ali, I talk shit
I'm James Brown, bout to tear down this bitch
I'm Michael Jackson, bitch I'm bad as bad gon' get (oww!)
Fuck you mean?
Yo wassup, this is Joyner
I'm unable to take your call right now
Leave me a brief message and I'll get back to you, peace

Yo, this is the third time this week
That you failed to pick up your son, and I'm just so confused
Like I find it funny that you stay in the studio laying something down
Slanging mixtapes but you have yet to bring home diapers
And lay your kid down and go to sleep
On Snapchat talking 'bout, "Where's the plug?"
Like I’m sure he’s at National Grid tryna cut my lights back on
Like "a dollar and a dream" ass career
And you can't even come home and give us a dollar for some fucking milk
I'm not doing this with you, keep it 100, my nigga
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