Inkredible - Trae Tha Truth

Tha Truth back, let’s get to business

It’s something unfamiliar

Call it a foreign image

Paint heavily leaking

I guess it wasn’t finished

Riding with something freaky

They tell me she the business

The chain clear, stones never cloudy

60 rats or better, nigga ask about me

Certified gangster, please don’t ever doubt me

Welcome to the streets

You can’t get in without me

I’m Presidential, Obama painted the Vogues black

Chopper in the Chevy, top rollin' back

My life a motion picture, bitch I ain’t gotta act

I send em to your section, nigga hold that

It’s raining scattered bullets

Too late to run for cover, I drain em like Kobe

Then I evacuate to the gutter

On something that’s pokey with looks

And a trunk they’d like to stutter

I rank as the king of the city

It ain’t gon be another

(Inkredible, inkredible, inkredible, inkredible…)

I’m sending shots, it’s happy hour

I shoot from close range, I’m a need a shower

Brains in the sink, body on the counter

Women and the kids, leave em how I found em

I’m a real nigga, stand still nigga

I’ll cut your face, have you lookin like Seal nigga

Then I pull your card, then I deal with you

Gamble with your life, is this your lucky night

My bitch so fucking right, every night I fuck her twice

Big boy money bitch, pockets on Charlie Wise

Tatted up, I’m scarred for life

Tell the cops I know all my rights

Got choppas I don’t mean Harley bikes

Drop em like a bag of ice

Shades dark, flag bright

Wallet chain, chrome horse

Hair to the fucking back, call that shit, Rosa Parks

Dr. Carter, man I gave hip-hop open heart

Young Money baby aka Noah’s Ark

And I’m Noah!

YOUNG MULA BABY

My money long, my temper short

My cars foreign, my dick a boss

The guns new, the beef old

It’s time to come through like never before

Liquid C4, look at me ho

Look into my eyes do you see a C.O.

I’m talking kilo’s, time to reload

Map fout ou deyo — «Shut the fuck up» in Creole

Bitch I’m paid up, get ya weight up

Peel the top back reel the shades up

I got them automatics so you know I’m automatic

All my auto’s automatic you know that’s automatic

What you niggas want to see

Don’t get caught in the street

I got G’s that’ll wait for a quarter key, nigga

I’m living nigga

Fuck the critics nigga (fuck em)

Shit is serious nigga

You hear the lyrics nigga (Yep!)

It’s Ricky nigga