Paperchaser - Kris Kasanova, Tennille

Life’s short

The day’s long

I’ll probably die up in my hood like Trayvon

Wait son

I’m from a block, where niggas bear arms

Like it’s 95 degrees out

Shots, and them D’s out

G’s trying to C’s what you B’s bout

Ain’t nothing, fuck you banging fo'

Oh you ain’t banging, fuck you claiming fo'

You ain’t trapping, you acting

My nigga’s first reaction, is blacking, and blasting

At fourteen, my nigga had a pocket full of stones

Never met his pops

Mom never home

Crib full of kids, still a nigga feel alone

Got his mind up on his money

Hand upon his chrome

Other hand upon the phone

Said there’s money to be made

Life threw him lemons, he made hard lemonade

And got lifted

I always said «My nigga, you was gifted»

He said, «Money make the world go ‘round.

Don’t get it twisted»

You’s a paperchaser

You got your block on fire

Remaining a G

‘Til the moment you expire

You know what it is

To make something outta nothing

Just handle your biz

Just handle your biz

New York

Big city of dreams

Feins got the shit looking like it’s New Orleans

Juvenile’s, with crack vials, in their G-Star jeans

And B.G.'s, with blood stains, on their new XIV

You getting money, ha

Gold chain around yo neck, ha

Got a connect, so now you wildin' for respect, ha

That beeper, yeah, it come wit a tec, ha

You selling pills, got em trippy

Tell em watch they step, ha

You paperchasing, ‘cause ya bills overdue

Hot Boy every summer

And the winter too

Low profile, but you blowing Mystikal

Whipping up in them pots

Grandma in the living room

Didn’t finish school, ‘cause you tryna chase that skrilla

In the hallways, like all day

Shit looking like it’s Thiller

Since a youngin' you was told never to snitch

Everybody need a hit

All you gotta do is pitch