Ain't Something Wrong

Ain’t something wrong
I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
But I’m in a drug zone
Relax your mind and let your conscience free
And I’ma tell you how a player used to stack his G’s
Used to hit the strips with the fuckin' clips in my pocket
Mind on mail, so change the powder into rockets
Came up off an ozone, now I’m pushing boulders
Off of doja on the flame with the rest of the soldiers
Flipped my first bucket at the age of 14
A four-door Nova, thought my shit was too clean
A young hustler tryna be like them G’s
My homeboy Fat Rat, The Stone and Tim B
Can’t forget about my homie Beeda Weeda
We used to strike the buckets all the way to Cupertino
Hot sunny day, man, the block was scorching
Fools in them drop point-O's straight torching
Sacks on top of sacks to get their buzz on
And by the way, young player, you in the drug zone
Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
But I’m in a drug zone
Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
But I’m in a drug zone
Hustling over chillin' 'cause it ain’t no time to kick it
Never been a baller but I’mtryna stack a ticket
Chopping down my O’s, put my money on froze
Slammin' Cadillac doors and on them multiple stoves
It’s just a dream, but dreams could be reality
Put it in perspective, collective and check the salary
Mandatory that I pop at you bustas, could never stop it
Dwellin' in the lab and on the daily tryna chop it
Monopolizing, enterprising, now in 1995 we’re realizing
That we got to do for self, so self is independent
Stacking up all the pay and making wealth and feeling splendid
Making G’s, nigga please
I used to hit the blocks to sell my rocks and roll up the green leaves
Now I’m all about my fetti
On the other side of the game and game tight and moving steady
Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
But I’m in a drug zone
Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
But I’m in a drug zone
Yeah, I’ma send that out to my homeboy Travy Lo, to my young homie Pierre,
to my OG Potna Rondo, to all the fallen soldiers, mayne
One love, that’s real
Now fools think they can jump in the game
And be an overnight star with money and fame
I had to work for my status, got the baddest apparatus
If you’re paying your dues, then fa sho, you can have this
Time’ll tell, you might as well
Come to the L-A-double B and check your mail
'Cause niggas be clocking their grip but coming up and stacking G’s
Pulling up in the lab and on the daily with them R-A-P's
Please take yourself and see and feel the beat
'Cause the flavor don’t stop now, us players gon' clock now
Represent the game because the game don’t stop
So you got to get your paper 'til it’s time to pop
Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
But I’m in a drug zone
Ain’t something wrong (ain't something wrong)
I’m running these streets, I’m stacking my pay
But I’m in a drug zone