Lyrics Don Q – Words Of Wisdom

The reef a call away, I bring it out on special occasions
Motha’s onto me
Used to hide my work next to the vases
Nightmares haunting me
Feeling like the last breath I was taking
God was warning me
Now every morning I’m checking for faces
Now that I get paid to party, I show up and bring my army
Better off safe than sorry, I’m never gonna play safaree
LA nights boogie had the Lambo, I played the ‘Rari
Selling white and I ain’t tell ’em a word when they came and charged me
I never worked a shift, I got it from the first to fifth
I had to learn the tricks like stuff the bags and burn the tips
Christmas time I couldn’t tell my daughter I ain’t earned a cent
I had to hit the curb and pitch, I leave and I return with gifts
Made decisions to keep my momma with a place to live
And stayed up wishing that she never seen them dinner plates was missing
Where I’m from the young wild niggas just hate to listen
Cause the old heads before us showed us how to make a difference
I feel upset, my killers check whoever’s sending threats
You still in debt, got plenty checks and I ain’t get to spend ’em yet
Nothing in direct, I’m still a living legend in the flesh
I remember deaths I couldn’t cope but dog I’m still a mess
Bitches left and I wish ’em best
I know she feel depressed
You the one it should effect

Your loyalty was just a test

Don, Bitch!

Pusha T:
Back to the future how I hit ’em with the flows
This coop isn’t born, you need nine months to grow
Marty McFly like I’m nineteen years old
I’m Marty McPie sell ’em thousand dollars an O
Yellow gold, keep it classic
Big money been around, push weight Jurassic
Send your bitch to Aspen for her b-day
Send your younger bitch to Coachella for bout three days
Same circle pass each other like a relay
You live in, I land on, difference between our PJ’s
Niggas still making albums using label budgets
I get it out the streets before the label touch it
Take two years and tell the label fuck it
My kilos streaming in the streets without a single buzzing
Never wore all saints, retired Balmain
Ball players turn them shits into a mall thing
Showroom shop, the clerk is scrambling
JW Anderson, I’m the manikin
You hybridge niggas done made me fans again
And Don Q got y’all panicking
Push