Saint Andrews - Memorabilia lyrics

[Intro] You're doing all this f**ing just give that sh** back, n***a... I ain't even f**ing play out here Yall n***as just playing and joking around. sh** ain't no f**ing joke n***a Just give me that sh** back, n***a. What the f** I'd do anything to get that back n***a. Put that on my life, n***a Put that on anybody I love, n***a. For real, n***a sh**, y'all n***as playing, man. I need that sh**, n***a. f** I need yesterday, n***a. f** tomorrow [Verse 1] I made last night some memorabilia So nostalgic, She'll remember ain't no n***a realer Stay true to this path because it's been within us Back when tee's were 3X and rims were spinnas Old heads used to send me to store Bopping past 'rillo guts thinking "What was that for?" Jay was back doing beats I would snap on But they was snapping for a block they could trap on But that was over west, late night, mask on While I take a 40 to the head and get pa**ed more And I'm thinking "Why I f** with these n***as?" One simple conclusion, "These my f**ing n***as" I done seen sh** most n***as ain't heard of k**ed my innocence, I'm innocent, it ain't murder That's a suicidal picture I could paint further But you would brush it off, so it ain't no love at all [Verse 2] Well I'm back in the office, rap is retarde k**ing careers like "get back in your coffin" Your grave's dug by an immaculate artist And I ain't phased by who's rapping the hardest Pardon me if I'm lacking a conscience But my conscious thoughts are driven back to my nonsense And they tell you it's a wrap if you're honest But if in me you see them, then what would that accomplish Now I can combine syllables when I ridicule Like "You n***as is pitiful, few triggers, I'm k**ing crews You b**h, this the interlude, rudest when in interviews I'm cooler than these n***as who be drooling for these b**hes too" But b**h I ain't no backpacker I could get your girl high, break her back after Give her back spasms, it's a bad habit I just give her dope dick, call me crackmatic I just rose from the concrete where arms meet Like tug of war with a martyr when I'm in arms reach Guardian angel letting me trip and fall And the devil on my shoulder picked me up, screaming "Ball!" So I turn to my n***as and face a L I'd rather face my demons, f** facing myself I raise hell, never stooping to that level Boxed in like the Stoop Kid, but I'm in A position to be in condition Where position my mission and take control of my opposition No pot to piss in, just vision, a vision to see me winning Even though a blind atheist could probably see me sinning Ooh and sin I do Cold shoulders in the winter, that's what winners do So if you need one to cry on, you're stuck with me And I'm so exhausted, everybody's trying to muffle me Luckily, it's a couple people that f** with me Apple ain't fall far but I chopped down the f**ing tree Man, I cuss too much, I got f**ing problems But she told me "Nah, for real, you got f**ing problems"