Текст песни Vince Staples - MAMA’S BOY

[Intro]
Yeah, yeah, on my mama
Yeah, this one goes out to all the baby mama's mama’s mamas
On my mama (Yeah)
On my mama's mama (Uh-huh), on my mama (Yeah)
Baby mama's mama, on my mama, mama (On my)
On my mama (Boom)

[Verse 1]
You ain’t gettin' blue strips, what?
You ain't ever shoot shit, what? (Say what?)
Went into the precinct, cuh, told them who did what
Niggas be way too tough (Tough), finna call your bluff, pick up
Whole rap sheet smut, mouth runnin', you an athlete, huh?
Gotta chase that bag (Bag), can't let it pass me up (No way)
Keep one tucked, the opps don't play
Been way more beef since I got paid
I ride 'round town with Ray Charles tint
The police search, they won't find shit
I’m way too rich for sleepless nights
The beef on sight and I won’t miss

[Chorus]
(On my mama) Yeah, I love this shit like my mama
(On my mama, yeah) I love this shit like my mama
(On my mama) I love this shit like my mama (Yeah)
Live for the money and die for the dollars (Die for the dollars)
Home of the killers and flockers (Flockers)
(On my mama) I love this shit like my mama

[Verse 2]
Michelin stars (Yeah), we gotta eat, soon as he Tweet
Sent to the Lord (Bang), land of the beast, runnin' the streets (Runnin’ the streets)
Glory to God (Thank God), answered my mama in prayers
I got my weight up, workin' my way up
Now I don't go 'less they pay us
Money ain’t everything (Nah, it's not)
But I promise, it help the pain (On God)
I just paid for a body and got the receipt, baby, let's celebrate (Dead homies)
Makin' money, makin' moves (Yeah, yeah)
Channel 7, breakin' news (Yeah, yeah)
Competition, what you on, run up on me, I'ma (Boom, boom)

[Chorus]
(On my mama) I love this shit like my mama
(On my mama, yeah) I love this shit like my mama
(On my mama) I love this shit like my mama (Yeah)
Live for the money and die for the dollars (Die for the dollars)
Home of the killers and flockers (Flockers)
(On my mama) I love this shit like my mama

[Outro]
On my mama (Dead homies)
On my mama (On my mama, nigga, run down)
On my mama (Just like my mama gunned down)
On my mama (Just like my mama)
Yeah, on my mama (Mama)
Yeah, on my mama (Niggas talkin' 'bout all that like)
Put this on my mama (Dead homies, nigga)
Put it on my mama
I'd like to think that had I not to had to work three jobs, two jobs, I could've spent a little more time and maybe he would not have become a monster
Dead homies