Right Where I’m Supposed To Be Lyrics – Kevin Gates
Married my hustle, came up out the slum, we elope with it
Momma, look your favorite son, a big *** ***
told me pick something, I’m good at a trophy
The Metroton, Los Ava say that I’m *** with it
I ain’t thinkin’, I know it, gonna tell where I’m goin’
The fedora brimmin’ had to bend at the shirt button
Busso and tatted up, dead complimentin’ my swag
I’m a bricklayer chick, give a glance, I’m a *** on em’
Find out my partner won’t tap, I can’t love on him
Simple, you get in your feelings and cuff on him
(On this old divine day, I hear my manifest
Debeat by the old black Range Rover Autobiography, SV
With the brains blowed out, with the yellow calibers
The same energy in the universe is the same energy in me
And with that energy I command him to be)
Skilled in some areas, shooter like Stephanie
If I’m in your area, brandish your ***
I’ll send you to heaven without second guessing it
Walking off Carmelet, took my accessories
New holding company, we assessing it
I’m not compromising, I got out my body
still apologizing to my neck and wrist
New born baby crying had a neck and wrist
Ice on my fingers and both of my wrists is my emerald cup pendant don know what neglecting is
Baby sit bricks trying to take all my children to CPS come but they know what protection is
Secret compartment don’t know what my *** is.
Shout out my Mexican.
I’m in the transport package land, turn where I stand to a dance floor
She think it’s cute though the way I be moving
feeling real groovy, don’t know how to dance though
We out in public when we finish eating
we in a locked finger, she can’t let my hands go
This not a grill, I can floss in between them
my diamonds be twinkling whenever I’m speaking
I’m a big eagle, they beat my demeanor
Without even thinking she loving my swag
Ay, shout out to old niggas
He did not want her to grow bigger
Mama, mama
Your favorite son don’t do no tripping
Baby, this my mama, mama, this baby
Your favorite son a big *** ***
Say you on grandbabies, I’m about to make you
Some take-a-home-bather and *** ***
Baby, you that thing, and I’m that thing
We about to make us some *** children
One other thing
They not gonna ever be *** dealers
(Right on where I’m supposed to be)