Myths - Joey Trap, God

I remember sellin' all that rock

I remember postin' on that block

I ain’t have no roof over my head

Still ain’t got no roof, I drop my top

Pull up, I swerve

No cup, sip syrup

I shoot 3's, no Curry

My bitch knees, they hurt, huh

Niggas put some bands on my head

Y’all should get refunded for your bread

Make her pray to god before bed

Then pass the bitch to God and catch red

Aye, say some shit on me cause I’m the Kloud God

Instagram @kloudgod

All this soundcloud rappin' prolly cause I’m, cause I’m Kloud God

Ball until I fall out

I just found a rap game and fucked it till she tapped out

Fuck that broke shit, don’t need no broke bitch, she need her own shit

That I don’t spit unless you throw me a couple bones

She like, «Hol' up, I might pull up»

My necklace, yellow diamonds, I’m a sensi

Oh shit, I’m on my old shit, I’m on my old shit

My froze wrist, my momma knows this, she said

I’m skrtin', but that not my whip, that shit is stolen

That’s not my whip, that shit is stolen

I remember sellin' all that rock

I remember postin' on that block

I ain’t have no roof over my head

Still ain’t got no roof, I drop my top

Pull up, I swerve

No cup, sip syrup

I shoot 3's, no Curry

My bitch knees, they hurt, huh

Niggas put some bands on my head

Y’all should get refunded for your bread

Make her pray to god before bed

Then pass the bitch to God and catch red

I remember standin' on that money block

Movin' packs, tryin' not to get knocked

Middle fingers to the cops, they the opps

I got a stove and a fork and a pot

Yeah, I cook that work

That ain’t OG, you smoke that durb

When I’m in ATL, I smoke that

Run up on me, you gon' get murked

I got a full clip full of hollow tips and the red dot

Clientele and a lot of work, the block red hot

12 kicked in the door, now we got a dead cop

Aim for the body, if I miss, I catch a headshot

Now he gone, I ain’t did nothin' wrong

I got so much work, hell, I need a fuckin' clone

And no, bitch, I ain’t cocky, I’m in my zone

If work ain’t what you talkin', don’t hit my phone

I remember sellin' all that rock

I remember postin' on that block

I ain’t have no roof over my head

Still ain’t got no roof, I drop my top

Pull up, I swerve

No cup, sip syrup

I shoot 3's, no Curry

My bitch knees, they hurt, huh

Niggas put some bands on my head

Y’all should get refunded for your bread

Make her pray to god before bed

Then pass the bitch to God and catch red