Have Mercy - Young Roddy, Trademark Da Skydiver, Smoke DZA

Might break her heart, I tell her what I really did

Block on fire but I’m chilly chill

On the real, I could take your wheels, really real

Try tell her one day I’ma be a millionaire

Slip up, get caught, get 100 years

Tough love made his mom cry 100 tears

Yeah, the niggas get loud or they gone and

It’s me against the real, yeah I’m all in

In the bank smelling like Bob Marley

Told my girl I’d be home in the morning

I was back now it’s gone get the money

My side bitch, that’s a whole 'nother story

Not to many niggas make it out New Orleans

Never hating, if they did I applaud 'em

Stay safe yeah the feds, they recording

I’m hood rich, still rocking Air Forces

All I know is while they crossing coffins

All I see is second lines in coffins

Phone ringing off the hook, they calling

Trap phones stay jumping like Jordan

Niggas bag up bricks on the regular

Niggas emptying them clips on a regular

Bunch of cowboys ride with they heads low

When a good nigga get killed that’s f’ed up

Probably why them niggas hearts stay frozen

No love for a bitch like Goldie

Hoes tell me I’m a dog like Rover

From the hood where the cops stay patrolling

Glenwood with the rats and the roaches

Call the plug, get them packs up in motion

On the block with the snakes and the vultures

Bust the Tre, yeah my life a rollercoaster

Back to the hood like I never left it

Cops pull us over, ask 21 questions

Living up in Hell, wonder will I get to Heaven?

Lost in the sauce, asked God for directions

Bait the bill, give it to the reverend

I don’t give a fuck feeling like Machiavelli

Trapped and I trapped and trapped in the belly

Yeah, the beast where them young niggas selling

Same old shit just a different day

Wake up, get dressed, make another plate

Nigga looking for the villain, I been in the cut

Chilling, plotting on a million

Tell 'em that I’m on my way

Smoke a 3 gram blunt, take the stress away

Made a 10 grand jug just yesterday

Only thing I know is how to get the bag up

Spit the truth, amen, put your hands up

From a city that ain’t sweet when it’s beef

Hittas catch you in the street

And they wet your whole fam up

Young 'uns on the block flashing hammers like cameras

They hoes said it’s local, they crips is bananas

They flip dirty birds, I ain’t talking Atlanta

12 on the block but the radars and scanners

I keep my cool, play it smooth and don’t panic

Getting my guac up, still got paper habits

Gotta get to the bag while the getting good

I know they feel this real shit up in every hood

From the gutter, I could never turn Hollywood

Always keep it 100, that’s understood

Talk shit 'bout the villain, they ain’t never could

Never took a hand out, still living good

Talking all that gansta shit but they never do it

Run up on me and mine, boy, I wish you would

Gotta second that statement, wish a nigga would

Shouldn’t have to explain what’s understood

My lil homie run around like Elmer Fudd

Year-round man-down season in my neighbourhood

Pass another wood

Couple homies passed and finished with the juug

Couples models finished, mommys fuck a good

Plug it low, these boujee bitches 'cause I could

True that, move back

Hear 'who that?'

for weeks

Still got low that you never seen

Still got flows that you never schemed

Double entendres, don’t miss the metaphor

Her daddy was the plug, that’s what I met her for

Took a Uber down to the 7th Ward

Hustling everywhere, can’t keep still

Made 6 figures with my old G

Real nigga off a handshake deal

Kush car still structuring the landscape still

My fans stay real, my hands so ill