Err Thing Valid Lyrics - Smoke Dza

Harlem world dealt me so I'm valid 

Chillin' in my purple palace in my Palace skate gear 

Same year I was climbin' up the chart 

Got bored with the game full of ladders cause there's snakes there 

Bruh I had to have it, game was rappin' average 

I'm a father to these bastards, I should claim them on my taxes 

Bunch of fuckin' mini-me's, you just stuntin' like your daddy 

You know they say, cats who run they mouth the loudest run the fastest lord 

You don't wanna get embarrassed lord 

Cause my nigga's with the static lord 

Pullin' out the automatic 

All this malice in Manhattan and your status based on madness, boy 

Who the nigga put you niggas on the swaggin'? 

Who the nigga stylin' killin' fashion with no stylist? 

Whoe the pretty nigga smilin' gold teeth, no medallion? 

I can hit south of park, Mike Trout when I'm battin' boy 

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It's cool, you can roll up right here 

Live life like you don't have a care 

Champagne like every day's New Year's 

That's on deck over here 

Everything valid (valid, valid) 

Everything valid (valid, valid) 

Everything valid (valid, valid) 

Kush god, I'm a hot nigga 

Fuck with Snoop Dogg with the pot, nigga 

Shout out to Uncle Snoop from up top, nigga 

Really fuckin' cool we got it locked nigga 

Everything valid 

Brand new passport, the old one tatted 

Cup runneth over, PJ in the chalice 

Life is too good, not a bit of malice 

Harlem get the money, [?] life forever 

Dice game poppin', what's in the bank, whatever 

Hoppin' out [?], snackin' on buchetta 

I'm in [?] so much they know my order before I said it 

Ma say I'm off the Richter 

I'm in the panorama takin' panoramic pictures 

Travel across the globe gettin' paid off my scriptures 

Everybody eatin' 

Extra chicken, hold the fixins 

Photos 

Listen, everything is valid 

40 cal, trigger finger got the callus 

I got style, I'm stylin' no stylist 

Clothes from France, French dressin' no salad 

SK, AK yeah I be bustin' those things 

Fifty keys, new cars, touchin' those things 

Bad bitches and money, in love with those things 

Blue cheese on the ranch, no buffalo wings 

Shit, that probably went over your head 

I tear your whole loaf off, over this bread 

And you know I don't like lames 

I've been gettin' it before there was a bike lane