Something - G Herbo

Look I won a race, 100 miles and running

They was stopping, I ain’t jog or nothing

I ain’t lag or nothing

I was 20 laps ahead of y’all, I ain’t brag or nothing

Gang rooting, under pressure, I ain’t let them down or nothing

Everybody got they cameras, hand me a towel or something

All my hard work, all them days in

Y’all know where I started

All them late nights going retarded

Running with the wildest youngings

Smelling like 1000 onions

Damn that shit don’t count for nothing

When I told 'em I was coming

They just thought that was I bluffing

Now my fans out overseas pay me 20 thou to touch 'em

Pretty ladies, yeah I love 'em

Come backstage, they let me fuck 'em

Free Of Charge don’t owe her nothing

I was rushing, I was getting ready

Make her hold my luggage

Met her once, she let me fuck her twice

She know I might fuck up her life

Too lit to have a fucking wife

She fine enough to wife tonight, so fuck it

She can board her flight

Love Ruth Chris might get her something to go, I guess I’m sorta nice

Never been on dates, I risked my life

She see me blowing this pipe

Baby I’m not regular, no I’m not your average dude

I grew up a hard knock, that’s not up my avenue

Gotta move something like the president

Can’t leave no trace or evidence

Or location, if I’m there too long I gotta move

Fuck it, you just stay right here cause I don’t like your attitude

Big G Herbo, don’t leave the G out when you say Herbo

Never leave the G out

Glock on me every day I leave out

Only way I be out, niggas know what we bout

Condos downtown, cribs in the suburbs, finna cop a beach house

Gold on everywhere, foreign whips everywhere, pull up skrt out

And I got more coming, got another tape dropping

Got another tour coming, yeah I made more money

Finna do more stunting, 120 lane switching, still ain’t push the sports button

Back to the program, niggas hating but they whores love me

Still getting tour money

15 for a 16 so yeah, it mean a 8 like 4 something

Put a couple little racks in the old school but it still ain’t running like the

Porsche running

Remember yelling 47 with the torch running

Hittin cuts on the ops block

Lakeside pistol run up on the porch gunning

All my niggas all about money

In the middle of the war hustling

Hustle homies and you know it touch us

Shut the whole block down, no more hustling

Start all the wheels up, load the steel up

Everybody on the team tryna score something

Flat on the ra-ra, they on high-high, rolled up out in traffic, dropped four or

something

Yeah, them killers like Jon-Jon

But we ain’t going out sweet, no, cops dying

That means ain’t no cops killing us

Ain’t no ops killing us

Some say I might sound cocky

Some say I might sound scary

But I know that I’m gon' get home where I’m from that’s slim chance very

Where I’m from shit get scary, niggas get buried

Riding up on your block, bloody mary

Don’t you double dare me

I’m from the Eastside of Chicago

I’m Gucci where I go

Niggas know me where I go

I’m an OG where I go

You can’t help what you born with

But it’s on you if you die broke

If I die before I wake

Have a party when I go

20 Rollies in a roll (?) if I wake before I go