TC - High End lyrics

Verse 1: Westbay Ain't nobody wanna earn their stripes They just wanna act hard, talk tough but they never wanna fight Drive a hundred thousand dollar car, never wanna grind all night Time to pull your card, time to see whose really about that life, for too long yo I've been too nice Ok now stand back Everybody give me room, don't be stepping on my air max Let me do what I do, spit truth on these damn tracks So high in the booth, why you think they call me ClimaX? I'll turn your city into Iraq, Everybody now Rock with me as I switch the flow, money on the table, I get the dough Yea your boy bad, I'm with Troy Ave, about five hoes and brick of blow (like yeah, wooh) Oh thats your girl? Ya'll two be a pair? I f**ed her last year (Uh), one more time And this fake sh**, it need to stop, I seen this mother f**er at the pizza shop He had a 5 dollar bill and some crumpled up ones, and on Instagram he's holding up a knot, I'm like please (wooh) Got a car and a bank account thats on E, so why ya girl chose me Chorus Cause you don't do it like this (up and down) Drop top in the whip, you don't do it like this (up and down) Every night another b**h, you don't do it like this (up and down) Might do alotta that, you don't do alotta this That boy he wish, that he could do it like this (up and down) Drop top in the whip, you don't do it like this (up and down) Every night another b**h, you don't do it like this (up and down) Might do alotta that, you don't do alota this Get money get rich, cause you don't do it like this Verse 2: Troy Ave Two Glock nines automatic stash it pull it out then tote Two hundred K for the yay I pay, and get it by the boat Dope dealing, 4 wheeling profit off high hopes Ski man, turned he-man, life is one big slope Up and down like prayers from the pope Play both sides prepare to be smoked People gonna beg you, people gonna stress you sh** my favorite word is nope Self made, got loyalty to who get me paid Royalty is what we obtain, through the smarts muscle and blood stains It's a art to hustle no front page, I'm flamboyant but low key I want money, not no trophy, got enough gold in my roley I came up gritty, got my name up you sh*tty Now Troy Ave that n*gga, outta New York City (powder) Chorus 2x