Losers (feat. Bias the Black) - Translee, Bias The Black

This ain’t no marathon, never worry on

If she throw it back, Barry Bonds

Great debate, let it carry on

You be Mike Wallace, I’ll be Farrakhan, Un-American

If I’m in the room, I’m the elephant

My cellphone is like a telethon

Don’t be insulting my intelligence

I’m the poster child, gold chain

Gold ring, gold watch, I’m the golden child

Know Translee, who’s Translee

Got dammit, do you know me now?

Hope you absorbing that

These liquor stores they be sorta packed

The new world order ordered that

That’s why guns got no safety

Cause we just want our corner back, you get that?

No safety man

Cause we just want our cornerback

That’s one-hundred like quarter sacks

I’m more than rap, I need moolah before I oolah

Im more Busta Rhymes than Martin Lawrence I wooahhh before I woosaah

With a cool drive, Im too live

Your momma gonna need your suit size how my crew ride

In due time

Never be a loser, always win like a cool breeze

I be listening to Cool Breeze

My cologne is Cool Breeze, my belt cost two g’s

That’s kind of overboard I know

I got dope vocal chords, I know

I rock the dopest clothes, I know

I got the dopest hoes, I know

I got the most… I know

Hooligan, fooligan, hooligan, shwooligan, wooligan, wooligan, shooligan

That’s what I heard when I turn on the radio

Rappers should be more intuitive

That way nobody dies, cause I see nobody tries

That’s why when ya’ll drop ya’ll shit it’s like ya’ll fans gay, nobody buys

I’m killing shit like a shotgun in your ass crack

This rap shit, ya’ll can have that

Too much politican man I hate that

And why we got to be scared of ya’ll?

Ya’ll wear skinny jeans

And, nothing wrong with skinny jeans but

We can see that ya’ll AIN’T STRAPPED

Think about it, Whitney Houston I’ma sing about it

New rollie got to take a link up out it

She sext me ain’t get a thing up out it

She sext you and got a ring up out it

Who’s the realer man?

Cause you built a fam and I just pulled my pants up and

ran, damn

Don’t be a loser forever, that’s the moral of the story

Don’t fight with your success, don’t quarrel with the glory

You want the house with all the stories, no worries

Just keep a shoulder cold as snow flurries

And take the slow grind, no hurries

Fresh when I bend them corners, flexing got DaVinci on us

Blowing money fast, I think I might put Bleu Davinci on this

Never wore this type of shit, but hey they got the cameras on us

These are Kunta Kinte orders, don’t respond to what they call us

Nigga’s not my name, bitch is not her name either

I was on them bitches back when niggas was just name keepers

Riding in that same Regal, me and Bull, we needed fuel we relied on women we

had pulled, sshh

We was on them back streets, me and Miller, ounces in the backseat

Pray to god I make it home, cause I know that this is not me

The cops be behind us to remind us slaveries not far behind us college isn’t

promised

Prison won’t decline us, they’ll make some room, make some room even if they

gotta take a school

Take a school, take a stool you gon' need it

Have a seat cause what I’m feedin' is the 80's crack boom, you’ll never beat it

Where ya gonna be when you’re 40?

Gonna be on Oprah, gonna be Maury

Gonna have some grandkids tell em all ya stories

Just don’t be a loser, all ya life

I might hit you with that ficky ficky ficky like I’m Missy Elliot

Im rapping like an alien, I give these hoes an alias

They can’t wait to see us sell temperature in celsius

You ain’t get that punchline

Celsius, see us sell, well, sometimes I be stretching it

Sometimes I be wrecking shit too hard don’t get no recompense

The FBI might take this song and use it for evidence

And lock me up for letting you know the truth and it’s evidence

I see money, I see money, greed and evil

I indulge in the achievement of my people

That’s just how I was raised, praise god on Sunday mornings

Tell em I’m done with hoes, next morning I’m right back horny, ooh

Bitches tell me «ooh kill em», I just fall off in that couchie

And I lean, smooth criminal, tryna be too visual, on the hunt for new residual

Tired of make due with minimum DNC’s the new cinema

Where ya gonna be when you’re 40?