The Seventies - Curren$y

Yeah, right back like I left my cell phone in the sofa cushion

Pay attention to 'em, show you how a pro do it

To the edge I push it, clearing over the ledge

Long way from down there so don’t look if you’re scared

On the quest for the bread, like I’m trying to build a sandwich

Tall enough to put me next to the moon if I was to stand on it

That’s all, you niggas sugary, get caught in the rain and dissolve

Reinforced frame, now Spitta too strong

Sucka niggas ain’t built to last that long

They out of ammunition making whack ass songs

Rap ain’t wrong, it’s just fucked up, not like that forever though

Because you got us, good weed, bad bitches among us

Try not to let this bullshit become us

We the Jets, my nigga only God is above us

Crusin' in my 'lac with a diamond in the back

Bad bitch in the passenger seat she twistin' up a sack

I know this ain’t the seventies, I’m feeling like the Mac

Goldie, you can’t hold me from collecting these stacks

Full steam ahead, no time for looking back

While I was off you niggas was getting fat

It’s my time boss I need parts of all that

If I ain’t on my grind then what you call that

Heavens to Betsy somebody catch me, I’m fallin'

Hopefully I land on both Jordan’s

Get right back to the sky with another bong rip

Another broken celly maybe I should buy a phone clip

Stop it, I would never rock it

Like my wallets, my money and my rubbers all in my pockets

You already know what’s in them Louie pouches

It’s prescribed so I ride with at least a couple ounces

Never seen lions pouncin' on their prey

Real shit, that’s how I approached the beat today

These, niggas is slippin', butterfingers going to the bar

Don’t leave your broad you better bring her with you boy

Or you’ll be filing a missing person report for her

Picture on a milk carton at the Krogers

Winn-Dixie or whoever your local grocery freezer

If I didn’t think I would lose my account I would of U Streamed her

Crusin' in my 'lac with a diamond in the back

Bad bitch in the passenger seat she twitstin' up a sack

I know this ain’t the seventies, I’m feeling like the Mac

Goldie, you can’t hold me from collecting these stacks

Full steam ahead, no time for looking back

While I was off you niggas was getting fat

It’s my time boss I need parts of all that

If I ain’t on my grind then what you call that