Fashawn - Relaxation lyrics

[Produced by J. Cole] [Verse 1: J. Cole] It's ya n***a, deep thinker, big drinker Late night, with ya wife in ya crib sneaker When you out of town, and you not around Turn your a** over like a n***a stepped out of bounds Crowd around young'n I got ammo and a lot of rounds coming Up in the streets where you not allowed, runnin' Got the songs b**hes ride around hummin' And the n***as stay thumpin' And the hater's hate pumpin' Got the 808′s bumpin' So the trunks stay thumpin' And the n***a get high only on occasion and My mind too wild Damn thought weed supposed to calm you down But I'm so high I could palm two clouds Boy look, these n***as quote my lines like the Lord's book You n***as less rhymes more hooks More bucks but less love You hear them drums, Questlove No Roots, I'm so truth I used to rock sidelines like a coach suit Had to look at all them loafers, yeah them boat shoes Now I'm in the game but I won't boast to you dummy Remember n***as had short jokes for my money Toast to the honeys, money and the liquor And b**h I don't sound like any other n***a With my finger on the trigger I burn rappers like Henny on the liver Grant d**h wishes like a genie I'm a k**er Lord giveth and he taketh like an Indian giver Hard to keep jimmy in zipper When you got them bad Aunt Vivians with ya Remy and weed, I got em on Pluto I prefer Henny but the hoes like Nuvo [Verse 2: Fashawn] Check, every time a n***a roll Old school whips and it's sitting on vogues Hoes on me when I enter the door If a n***a wanna trip, good grip on the chrome Empty out a clip from the fifth then I'm gone Twist up a spliff, get a fifth of Patron Hate a chick who just talk sh** on the phone Baby I'm tryna stick, give ya dicks to ya dome, sh** If I was you n***a I would hate him Hot August nights I'm out there in Vegas Stuntin' til time, had that patience Now it's big faces, fly vacations Alias Shawn Stacks Miss shows, never call back Blowin' Dro sippin' tall cats On the low had to crawl back n***as wonder if it's all raps Or it's all facts [Verse 3: Omen] As I step in the door like Fe fi foe With the heat like flow and the beat typo Better rewrite yo, get your rhyming straight Get murked plus 8 like Jon and Kate I mean it's time for the face off Hit the corner like an 8 ball Man I concentrate like Adolf No time for a hater, get a day job Me on the mind you ain't even on the radar Love her brain but I never been a fiend for her silly ways So I'm tryna get the cream til I'm silly paid Couldn't put her on the team, every week another reason To scheme like Billy Mays Gotta grind gotta focus Gotta shine through the minds of the blind, lot of hopeless Never confined to the rhymes that I've chosen Omen, a sign of the times, gotta quote this