This Year Lyrics

I'm a born leader, ya'll some following cats
That's why I stay away from snakes, cause they be following rats
My life ain't pretty, I grew up in a grimey Brooklyn city
My niggas move with me, I crush those that go against me
I'm good when I hustle, but I'm great with the wordplay
This year I'm the hardest nigga out, go take a survey
I burn any rapper that ya'll think is nice
Send them back to the drawing board, make 'em rethink his life
Ya'll dudes is trash, ya'll don't need to be touching the mic
Ya'll make it hard for real MC's like me, cause this is my life
Ya'll trying to take food out my kids mouth
Ya'll have me run up on your with the nine
And put it in your mouth and then I run up in your house
You heard about me on Riker's Island and eight lower
That nigga TK is nice plus he's a pure flower
Who the f**k talking, you front on me, and I'm gon' show ya
Who the f**k talking, you front on me, and we gon' show ya

[Chorus x2: T-Bird]
And this year, I ain't taking no for an answer
And this year, I'm a make the whole world stand up
And this year, all ya'll fake MC's gon' man up
And this year, I ain't taking no shit from nobody

I'm lurking in the ghetto, fiending for these streets
Infactuated with money, chopper, homey, plus these beats
And gangsta grill chevy's, go run a few dollars
Like that German Marlboro swiss, glassed Impala
Dog, I break bread with hustlers, booze and drug dealers
Cy Young Award, Tennessee's trap nigga
Call me Al Wilson, the bronco in these streets
I didn't need you to get a buzz in these streets
They put me in a position of power I'm on a come up
Like Fendi, I got dirty money, homey, get your bread up
I hug block, time stops, and never been shook
Rock beats, f**k beats, put your bitch to sleep
I was raised, dipped in blue haze, spitting, if I ain't drinking
Cognac, shorty, I'm real life tipping

[Chorus x2]

My manager told me, make sure all your songs are commercial
I told him, turn on the TV if you wanna see commercials
Cause I ain't from the suburbs, and I'm from where they sell herbs
And cops constantly lock up, niggas, and make 'em jailbirds
Some niggas sell birds, and some niggas f**k birds
My state of mind's to get money, so I never hustle backwords
Ain't nothing you can tell me, I been gully since I came out my momma's belly
I was grinding while you playing scully
Nigga, I ain't conceited, but I'm sort of convinced
That I can say what I want on the mic and still make sense
How many times I gotta tell you, ain't no stopping me, dog
I'm slick but I'm hard body, ain't no dropping me, dog
Ya'll should all recognize how I tear shit down
I'm the epitome of hip hop, so where's my crown
A lot of your rappers got fat while I starved over the years
Life got hard over the years, I revolved over the years
Cocksuckers, check my pedigree, I rock rubbers
Most of my niggas is glock lovers, snitches, I call them cop lovers

[Chorus x2]

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Record Label(s): 2015 Chambermusik Special Products

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