Susan's Son Songtext
Who would've thought forever would be forever
Family is for life, I learnt that shit real talk
Im content, what can I say
I'm living good homie what can I say
Imma just keep it simple
Check
In brutal times I would crucial provide
Daddy told me turn my Nikes to suits and to tie
And now if jobs are out of line I make [?]
Family is for life, I learnt that shit real talk
Im content, what can I say
I'm living good homie what can I say
Imma just keep it simple
Check
In brutal times I would crucial provide
Daddy told me turn my Nikes to suits and to tie
And now if jobs are out of line I make [?]
Cause she can make my pieces fit the part till it's music for life
(yeah, yeah)
If management's my leg then the suits are my spine
I'd frolic 'round their wallet with stupider times
I leave my ma' to go fuck with the booty and wine
Then I come back home and cuss [?]
Bad pains from the bad days
Momma carried Chill so long, I gave the woman back pain
But now I've rapped so long I run the fucking rap game
Ma' give me a year or two I'll probably push this packed strain and get rich
Hundred racks that I made in Japan
Shoutout my brother Ben, he's back and he's blazing the gram
I ain't really got no strap and it made me a man
I told my label "Keep the cash I can pay the advance"
It's 420 fucking fam
We don't fuck around [?]
[?](Brothers double down)
Bad Rapper, all my brothers on the buttons now
I built it from the bottom up and real fans are fucking proud
That's real talk
I can't even explain it man, like the real fans would be proud, like
My mum, my bro, my dad we smilin', we wealthy, we healthy
For the rest of my life
It's all for my fuckin' mum, that's the craziest shit
Im always gon' be Susan's son
Let me talk about these fucking facts
Ever since this dirty cat was double size
I lived in brick veneers but hung in dirty traps
Let me keep it real, I was like the Bernie Mac
Was laughing until i'm high and then I die, I go and burn the pack
But fuck drugs (real talk) cause now we tryna burn it back
Now I want my broski up in Uni doing learning stats
And now my broski's on the deck and he can burn your track
And he ain't gonna play your clubbing set unless it's thirty racks so fucking pay
Lobster's on the table now (yeah)
Went from mobsters to some doctors at the cable house
Dropped a body bag and started up a label now
And told virgin "Fuck all of these virgin rappers, pay me now, I'm blowing up" (mmh)
My family's legit with beers?
I [caught/called?] some whores [?], and now I hit and miss
I need a little more, dishes, chores, little kids I adore
Lord need a family and bigger crib, like dad does
Super smart, stupid dumb
Poppa said "Fuck em' all son, you still the one"
And I know your group is big, and all your groupies fuck
But come back home and get reminded that your Susan's son
Your Susan's son
And this music, is music man
Go drive in this whip you deserve it man
I want you to know i'm high as fuck in this studio
Smilin my ass off
And I hope if you are listening you are too
Forever motherfucker
(yeah, yeah)
If management's my leg then the suits are my spine
I'd frolic 'round their wallet with stupider times
I leave my ma' to go fuck with the booty and wine
Then I come back home and cuss [?]
Bad pains from the bad days
Momma carried Chill so long, I gave the woman back pain
But now I've rapped so long I run the fucking rap game
Ma' give me a year or two I'll probably push this packed strain and get rich
Hundred racks that I made in Japan
Shoutout my brother Ben, he's back and he's blazing the gram
I ain't really got no strap and it made me a man
I told my label "Keep the cash I can pay the advance"
It's 420 fucking fam
We don't fuck around [?]
[?](Brothers double down)
Bad Rapper, all my brothers on the buttons now
I built it from the bottom up and real fans are fucking proud
That's real talk
I can't even explain it man, like the real fans would be proud, like
My mum, my bro, my dad we smilin', we wealthy, we healthy
For the rest of my life
It's all for my fuckin' mum, that's the craziest shit
Im always gon' be Susan's son
Let me talk about these fucking facts
Ever since this dirty cat was double size
I lived in brick veneers but hung in dirty traps
Let me keep it real, I was like the Bernie Mac
Was laughing until i'm high and then I die, I go and burn the pack
But fuck drugs (real talk) cause now we tryna burn it back
Now I want my broski up in Uni doing learning stats
And now my broski's on the deck and he can burn your track
And he ain't gonna play your clubbing set unless it's thirty racks so fucking pay
Lobster's on the table now (yeah)
Went from mobsters to some doctors at the cable house
Dropped a body bag and started up a label now
And told virgin "Fuck all of these virgin rappers, pay me now, I'm blowing up" (mmh)
My family's legit with beers?
I [caught/called?] some whores [?], and now I hit and miss
I need a little more, dishes, chores, little kids I adore
Lord need a family and bigger crib, like dad does
Super smart, stupid dumb
Poppa said "Fuck em' all son, you still the one"
And I know your group is big, and all your groupies fuck
But come back home and get reminded that your Susan's son
Your Susan's son
And this music, is music man
Go drive in this whip you deserve it man
I want you to know i'm high as fuck in this studio
Smilin my ass off
And I hope if you are listening you are too
Forever motherfucker
