Cancion : Classic Feel
Artista : Troy Ave
Album : New York City: The Album
Url : https://www.letras10.co/letra-classic-feel-de-troy-ave


Classic feel

[Verso 1]
Rubber grip or the plastic feel
This that Brooklyn shit, this is not the norm
This that safety off with that engine on
Mercedes Benz, good watch, scene above them all
How he got money when he ain't have a job in so long?
This that hustler shit, that independent grind
That nautical sweat suit and white ones gold shine
Barbershop twice a week, stay sharp and in shape
In the chair, with the trigger hair, under the cape
This that first hand shit, Maybach, tinted windows
Not gonna rap about it but really seen it from my window
This that fine line between jail and my crooks
My bedroom at my mama house smelling like coke
This that gambling spot, stop bank, shoot it back
Metro North, with three birds in the backpack
Plenty trains on bitches, no names or pictures
Kept it low so she brought more things to fuck with us
This that half off credit, shit we don't respect
We just dead them if they try to do 60%
This that other 40% that minority flow
When all the achers sell hearts and only you sell blow
No pain, no gain, I profit of cane
Give a fuck who we slaying as long as my team remain
This that violating, y'all meet your death
This that vile cover, nigga, east versus west

[Hook]
Classic feel
Rubber grip or the plastic feel
Classic feel
Rubber grip or the plastic feel, nigga
It's that motherfucking classic feel
Rubber grip or the plastic feel (Representer of the O's & the pistols!)
Classic feel
And if you get it like me you can tell it's for real

[Verso 2]
Now if he say I ain't hot I probably fucked his girl
Or did violence to his homies, took 'em up out this world
Bruce Lee sure, only nigga with that glow
BSB Records, nigga I'm the CEO
Most of these other rap niggas? They done seen before
MC for all, how the fuck you get my number and other line, this momma loves me, she proud of her kid
She Used to call me like, 'The cops here, don't come to the crib!'
A bad boy, a more gangsta version of Shyne
My city all stake and I ain't even get in my prime
Still getting that cake, a Pillsbury snow
On the real, fuck your opinion, I made it this far and you broke
When I was looking for guidance spread the Bible apart
But Exodus 20:13 didn't do shit for my heart
So I move in silence, all you hear is the spark
See a flash 'fore you pass, what a light in the dark
What a sight in the chop, yeah, that's DOA
I know I look like I'm balling but nigga me no play
I'm 'bout my Frito-Lay, bags of chips
So if you feelin this shit, baby, rub on your tits (ah-ha!)

[Hook]


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