Drive Slow / Taste Like Heaven - Reason

Yeah

Bunta-bunta-bunta-bunt-bunta-bunta-bunt

My grandfather used to tell me like

The good die young, everything that he said proven

Ever since Del died, they got my head ruined

My prayers go out to his loved ones, I’m sittin' here fucked up

Can’t remember the last thing that I said to him, man this shit crazy

Wasn’t the closest, nah, but every meet was special

Got me recruitin' shit, we almost shared a team together

Worked on our jumper, cone drills, we shared our dream together

And now that nigga gone, but I mean whatever

Not a disrespectful whatever, more like

«REASON, you never made the effort, and now you preachin‘ that he’s special»

Touché, those hypocritical lies

These my thoughts while I’m in traffic, takin' off my nigga tie

It’s been a long day, but tomorrow I’m paid

Been slavin' and workin' hard, prayin' I get a raise

This that drive slow music, in traffic textin' bitches from your iPhone music

You text, you wanna see her, she like, «I know stupid»

Instantly you think about how loud she be screamin' when you diggin' her out

You in the hood, you could’ve been plottin' how to get out

But you text your address, and now her nigga in route

So drive slow, ya' never know (Drive slow, drive)

‘Cause nowadays bitches fuck niggas to get some dough (Drive, drive)

And errbody itchin' to figure a way to blow

As long as you chasin' money you won’t lose a single hoe, my nigga

Drive slow

(Drive slow, drive slow, drive slow)

Look, you never know, homie, about these hoes, homie

You need to pump your brakes nigga

Free my nigga Fonz, he taught me this rap shit at an early age

The pressure from it can send you into an early grave

Be dead tired tryna make a living from it

Get the little things, take it and get bigger from it

Niggas runnin' the game with catchy beats and labels that don’t do shit

Put every dollar behind it to push your new shit

Prayin' the right nigga hear it to make a couple of bands

I swear this shit feel like it’s higher stakes than Ruth’s Chris

And label beatings like you know that I’m spittin'

I know that they listen

They know every lyric, and they respond like

«REASON, dye your hair, they gotta know that you different»

I know my presence lackin' but you know that I’m gifted

I’m tryna tell these niggas

My name should be ringin', I need that bell from niggas

But being real, I don’t put enough to myself here

Gotta figure out a way to make music they wanna play

‘Cause niggas quit their dreams everyday and press play

And drive slow, ya' never know

(Drive slow, drive)

‘Cause nowadays bitches fuck niggas to get some dough (Drive, drive)

And errbody itchin' to figure a way to blow

As long as you chasin' money you won’t lose a single hoe, my nigga

Drive slow

(Drive slow, drive slow)

Look, you never know, homie, about these hoes, homie

You need to…

Take ‘em to church

Whoo-hoo-hoo

Gettin' out on a Sunday, it’s so sweet (So, so, so, so)

Tastes like a little bit of heaven

Whoo-hoo-hoo

Gettin' out on a Sunday, it’s so sweet baby (So soulful, so soulful)

Tastes like a little bit of heaven

Look, what you know ‘bout bein' the coldest nigga killin' shit?

Lyrics filled

with gold

And everything you said was platinum, but ain’t no records sold

Been tryna get my name a ring (A ring) but ain’t no one proposed

I swear that nigga you’ve been waitin' for right under your nose

Look I’ve been doing a lotta thinkin' homie

Wish I had a dollar for every time niggas was sleepin' on me (Snooze)

No new friends, no, no, no, no, last thing I need is homies

‘Cause my crew tighter than virgin pussy

Lately been curvin' groupies and bitches

I wanted to toss me ass now they throwin' pussy

Man that shit crazy, look, my girl don’t want me to catch stacks

When every move can change your life

Then every step’s a death trap

Niggas claim they flow is nice

But nigga I’m screamin' let’s test that

‘Cause I swear I don’t believe these niggas

Can be anything in the world, but I don’t wanna be these niggas

I make my music for the streets, I’m tryna reach these niggas

be my family tree and I can’t leave my niggas, that’s leavin' tree

Best out, shit you could bet that, uh

Mil huntin', comin' after meals like wet naps

Work too hard to be set back

From rookie Kobe air ballin' to becomin' nicer

Than Paul Pierce with a step back

So limits, we gon' test that, uh

They gotta know we were sent here to be kings

They gotta know we will be there-

Yo, yo, P, I think this is the spot, think this is the spot.

Pass me that real

quick

Oh this definitely the spot.

They got strobe lights out here?

Flo got us at the

disco

Nigga, it’s some bitches at this one.

I can’t wait

Look at the disco nigga.

This nigga IT was dancin' on niggas

(Fuck IT, this shit does look lit out here. Let me throw my shit in the trunk

too, let’s go)

Yeah, yeah, P, pass me your shit- Paul, gimme your shit too.

We’ll put it all

in the trunk