Carry On (feat. Joey Bada$$, Freddie Gibbs) - Statik Selektah, Joey Bada$$, Freddie Gibbs

Statik Selektah

«—live and direct»

«Others such as myself are tryna—» «—carry on tradition»

Carry on tradition

«Got Statik, and I’mma select»

«You get it!»

Mic check, 1, 2, 1, 2

Mic check when a nigga come through

«—carry on tradition»

Niggas keep it silent

'Cause we all about that knowledge

Besides the fact a nigga never been as swank as me, I like that

Until I shine I sit patiently, so light that

I’m folding back, scroll a pack and roll a fatty, smoke-savvy

Not divinorum, mad I’m thinking what they probably should have did before him

I’m on my girls and soaring, foreign under them heels

It ain’t about the Ralph though, tell your horse chill

Don’t need to grill to feel like a real nigga

If he can’t see the light then shine Hilfigers still

Six-figure deals with the hell, since the age of six I knew the name would ring

a bell

In six more years to wonder what the time could tell

That’s 666 still no signs of a three-sixty deal

Neither did I sell myself, records spinning by they self

The DJ tell myself go reflects off the reflex, before I told Flex drop that

Semtex on the next New York best

This sickest sound, stick around, and we coming for the vets now

Can a nigga contest?

Maybe if he put his pride aside he could confess,

but none the less

It’s fundamental, weed to fund the mental, wise with the momentum

So rise on this momental, so pawn your in-credentials

Watch who you pretend to, and put a potent diamond to fuel

Respect my conglomerate then wait I’m rocking to

It’s such a prominent tune, but I won’t get my roses until I lie on my tomb

Flowers

«Others such as myself are tryna—» «—carry on tradition»

Carry on tradition

Fo' sho'

Yeah «Got Statik, and I’mma select»

I said, that E-S to the G-N, bitch

«—live and direct»

Yeah, fo' sho' «—carry on tradition» Gangster Gibbs, baby

Nigga, that Hennessy—

Nigga, that Hennessy—nigga, that Hennessy—

With my lyrical Billy Dee .45 Colt

Fuck the polices, they raided but they can’t find dope

If it ain’t about money and bitches—nigga, what you rhyme for?

Work half a day in my trap, and make what you sign for

My niggas is willing to whip that work

Cause it’s such a ridiculous feeling to come in your crib and your shit don’t

work

Electric, gas, and water

You fugazi and mutilated like Pookie at the Carter

Joseph Jackson of gangsta rapping, nigga respect the father

Taking it back to making them pick a switch off the tree

Every time you rap or do a show, bitch I should pinch off a fee

You used to flow 'bout goofy shit, met a G and got on some groupie shit

A slave to my rap page, student under my tutelage

I’m still taking these boys to school

As quick as I build them up, I can just disassemble them

Coke and cut the curriculum cousin stayed up in Flint

I was shipping this shit to Michigan

The black bastard fuck LensCrafters I see the bitch in them

Cop a squat drop a pile on them, I’m steadily shitting on these niggas

But they hate the way Freddie came and switched up the style on ‘em

I stretched it out to 250 he got a nine coming

Don’t sell it at night but I’m up as early as five something

Chopping boulders, and blowing dosha so fuck a cup of Folgers

Bended corners, and serving yola straight off this Motorola

Sometimes you sacrifice your heart to serve this hard weight

Thirty rounds of death on my waist, its Baby Scarface, nigga

(«—carry on tradition») Yeah

I said, thirty rounds of death on my waist, its Baby Scarface, nigga

I got thirty rounds of death on my waist, its Baby Scarface, nigga

Yeah

(«—carry on tradition»)

Carry on tradition

«Got Statik, and I’mma select»

«You get it!»

You know what I’m sayin', nigga?

These niggas’ll rap around circles and shit

But, you know what I’m sayin', if they ain’t talking no real shit,

it really doesn’t really fuckin' matter, you dig what I’m sayin', nigga?

Haha, ya dig?