Wale – The Curse of the Gifted LyricsFollow
"Hold up, hold up, hold up, what the fuck?"
"This nigga got a motherfucking statue?"
"This nigga Wale"
"Wale? What the fuck he ever done to get a statue?"
"Who the fuck this nigga think he is?"
"Hey spray that shit, spray that shit"
"Tag that shit"
"Hurry up, hurry up"
"Yeah, fuck a Wale, fuck outta here"
"Fuck outta here, man"
Life's better when your niggas good, and your mama straight
Though honestly still looking for some type of balance
Cause the status got me jah tripping
Cause I like my bitch, but I love these bitches on my dick
When spitting tell me what you feeling different knowing you's the bread winner
And it's rare you hear niggas say he can't feel you
But in your ears like he dope, just not dope enough
And your closest homie probing you to open up
And to do so you must roll one up
And it’s lonely at the top, they tell me that they feelin me
I eat this game and shit this out
My dirty drawers got winning streaks
I’m in too deep this industry, insane to a nigga
Got change like them niggas, but ain’t change like them nigga
They only fuck with my old shit cause I’m on shit
But I was potent in ’06, niggas slow as shit
Now my dreams is nothing more than minimal thoughts
And my cheese gonna fluctuate, though, sleep is the cause
And I’m tired though, and I’m high too
But it’s like my music made these niggas turn they pride to food
Yea, ye ain't even gotta love us
But you better respect this motherfucking hustle, real nigga shit
Satisfaction's for suckers
Satisfaction's for suckers
And ye don't even gotta love us
But you will respect this motherfuckin hustle, real nigga shit
See life better when you know you real
I know some niggas is winning but ain’t been home in years
Pray they not know the feeling, sitting on a couple million
Sipping pretentious liquids
Usually think money would heal it, funny, it's only trippin'
If you were afloat, I bet you soak if you with 60 niggas
So we keep that circle small and never let no squares near it
It’s double-M G, I hope they know the set
Don’t you cop a second whip unless yo mama out of debt
Shout out to my cousin Bola, be home in a minute yep
My nigga’s at the Rivers correctional, that’s me in that vent
They thought I wouldn’t win in a crew full of trappers
But I do, I fucked the game and came out a gold rapper
I should be loving my accomplishments
But a brand new Maserati got me plottin on another hit
Success is like a never ending battle
Wit' whoever at the top and if that’s you you who you tryna hit
To top all my last shit, it’s all that I ask of
I pray you forgive me if I don’t bask in this chapter
I’m a legend out Georgetown, we talkin bout practice?
Cuz in this establishment you ain’t never established
This is the story about the price of fame
But the love for the dollar
Is because they cannot change
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