Interlude Lyrics - Belly

Yeah, look 

Straight out the holy land to holding grams 

Tra-tra-trappin' out stolen vans with goals and plans 

Lonely man, remember being my only fan 

I'm down and up, the Midas touch, the golden hand 

Blood in the soil is over oil 

Cold-hearted, my blood boils 

The spoils of war are used to take the drugs out the foil 

Man these arms can't reach you, AR's won't recoil 

Goddamn, I might marry a heiress and move to Paris 

Fuck the carriage baby, let's go disappear and just perish 

Thirty karats in the gold 

I wear it to cherish the kings from which we inherit 

My chariot is McLaren 

It's all numeric 

Talking numbers, you incoherent 

Don't be embarrassed, I blame your parents for even caring 

Or not aborting, ah fuck it, it's not important 

My vital organs can't even tell if it's night or morning 

Final warning, final warning, final warning 

Every morning you'll awake and await mourning 

We earn it then we burn it to ash 

I call it urn money 

My dog called 40 before he turned 20 

Money is earned, the rest is inherited 

Hashish come from Marrakech, all my kush is American 

Man I feel like a therapist, pistol on me like Maravich 

I careless, I'm so perilous with all of this arrogance, goddamn 

Money, hoes, that's something that you can't chase 

I ain't shit but let you eat from the same plate 

If you ungrateful then you ain't great 

Me and Khaled come from the same place 

Huh, holy land, holy land 

Back when I was holding grams just to haul a Benz 

Yeah, holy land, holy land 

My father never was a holy man 

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