No Rats This Time Lyrics English Translation by FRIENDLY THUG 52 NGG
E-e-e, 52, suck it, Christopher
Cristofer
All my shit is for real
Hate me in life, we’ll graffiti on you
Only reds in the bag, no change in the stores
I snore on the hoes, can buy myself a ride
In the city, there are spots where the brothers stand
We throw sticks and scatter fingers
Thanks to the rap game, I stopped bitching
I’d be pushing it, and that would be dope
The street parties when we shoot promo
Cops pass by, we smoke anywhere
They read rap, damn, but we don’t support them
A little awkward, ’cause they ask about it
I have a piece, I can bang someone
This dude’s a rat, don’t smoke from the same bong
Sometimes I don’t believe who we’ve become today
Let’s buy a flat, used to smoke in rentals
We write in English with mistakes
Bro will drop an album, so everyone knows we’re from St. Pete
There’s money, we didn’t have it before
I sleep on retards as if under a blister
They need ecstasy to be sincere
I need Rex to buy her Tiffani
Just bought a outfit, I wear it with tags
But it’s mine, I don’t give a damn, I can throw it out
We weigh heavy, our homes have elevators
We have balls, but we roll with pussies
Those are some dogs, but we eat with forks
What’s expensive, damn, like my principles
All my shit is for real
Hate me in life, we’ll graffiti on you
Only reds in the bag, no change in the stores
I snore on the hoes, can buy myself a ride
In the city, there are spots where the brothers stand
We throw sticks and scatter fingers
Thanks to the rap game, I stopped bitching
I’d be pushing it, and that would be dope
If I’m in Turkey, I pick up Natashas
Take her to an apartment, harem awaits her
If I’m on the block, alarms are going off
Street dogs, they have Shabbat every day
Rolexes two-tone, baby, I brought it all from the hardcore
Yanix – OG, like Buffon
You want to smoke with us? You seem dumb
We’ll order you, you’ll be the two-hundredth load
My hand on the bun, but I’m no baker
My boys knock, but only on ebonies
I’ll flex a little and take some Pateks for myself
And unlike you, we never cap
Check my checks, stacks on stacks on them
Tracks like corpses, they end up in rivers
This is a game on the fly, and I sweep you, kids
5.2 million for any, damn, month, Yani
All my shit is for real
Hate me in life, we’ll graffiti on you
Only reds in the bag, no change in the stores
I snore on the hoes, can buy myself a ride
In the city, there are spots where the brothers stand
We throw sticks and scatter fingers
Thanks to the rap game, I stopped bitching
I’d be pushing it, and that would be dope