T. Rose - Shot Caller lyrics

[Chorus] Check out my credentials, you ain't f**ing with me Beat the beat up like Bobby did Whitney As like Nicki, balled like Britney b**hes on my dick good thing a n***a lengthy (Sir Real J) Yeah I got potential, on that instrumental Beamer brand new, retail- no rental Haters leaking red, got 'em looking full menstrual Body filled with lead like an old school pencil On my own level, well honey I'm mental All about the hits, and yet they call us gentlemen Steady with the lift, and I'll only settle when I am with my dogs, and a bad b**h- no kennel Shot caller, Montana on the track On top of all 'ya like Montana on a map of us Or a Maine man I must Reach a pine tree state smoking prime tree blunts Conversing in converses, call me Chuck Probably touching more ice than hockey pucks It's a mighty fine feeling that's obvious So these dudes talk sh**, but later copy us See what a hobby does? It turns my cares into something On my way to ball, turn my carriage into a pumpkin- that's stunting The ones who called this nothing all bluffing Cuz now my wallet's pumped like it's bumping Joe Budden [Chorus] (T. Rose) Look, I'm the best to ever do this sh**, retire my jersey I think I'm James Worthy of a spot in the hall with the greatest No bullsh**, I'm balling like the Lakers So shooters out here tryna Steve Kurr me Tryna disturb me, deter me from my journey Kind of like Jabari Parker, young n***a tryna ball and be Amish Being honest, that's a tough f**ing metaphor, sheesh I leave your brain James, toting Metta World Peace I go hard and you can't guard this Game tight as the admissions officers at Dartmouth Offer her a hard dick, got Verizon bars' strength Throwing shots at your back, I don't have to call sh** Peace Kenan [Chorus] (Sir Real J) I'm a shot caller, got dollars a lot taller My esteem is hot water. I'm scalding- get scholar'd Pay me by the sentence- hit 'em with that gavel in court Which makes cents, cuz I travel more than a young baller Check out my credentials, suite is presidential- -face on the bill so old it's sentimental Send me a metal. I've been running these tracks for a minute I ain't finished, I exhibit why we visit life's limits I get to the business, hit the digits, then I'm splitting Like the linen of my pocket, when I fit my wallet in it Problem isn't all these b**hes, it's the f**ing air conditions I be frigid, icy, twenty-twenty vision And I have risen from the grey, from the day-to-day Sharpest of minds, keep my lines to the razor blade Lines to the bayonét, or the bayonet, either way you get The point of it. I coined this wit. b**h I'm a favorite [Chorus]