Paper lyrics

[Verse 1: Paco Panama]
Dog ass n*gga, with some dog ass ways
Now it's five-star 'telly's, but I still love them hallways
I still love them raw sales, and how they all smell
When you cook, this ain't for rooks or no halfway crooks
That sh*t we did around the wave going in the record books
n*gga, f*ck the record deal, I don't mean no disrespect
But that's just how a n*gga feel (That's how I feel)
Especially if they ain't talkin' 'bout a couple mil', n*gga, yeah
sh*t get real, couple million of them streams
Call me young Phil, every year we getting rings
But I ain't ever switchin' teams, waited for my time to come
Got me feeling like a Ne-Yo, when he found out he the one
My young n*gga feel like Nas, he said he got himself a gun
He gon' make something shake, send Oxy' to the store
We need more than a place
We started out with— shh, but ended up then the H
If I never serve you, then you got to smoke it in my face
If I finessed you out your sh*t, at least I did that sh*t with grace
He say I ain't the one, that sh*t you smokin' must be laced
He say I ain't the one, then he must be smokin' base

[Verse 2: OT7 Quanny]
I'm on the breast just like I'm Tommy Bunz
I like hunnids, I'll take twenties if that's how it come
I'll whip that work just like it stole something
Way before I was a rapper, I was road runnin'
This a thousand eight grams, these ain't no bowls, cousin
You should see my f*ckin' face, sh*t, when the law is coming
A hundred fifty in all cash, I got it vacuum sealed
Put you in the f*ckin' box, now he a Happy Meal
A hundred racks in all hundreds, yeah, I been savin' mines
Yeah, this year our year, this n*ggas favorite line
Yeah, I whip that work like Kunta Kinte
I just made a thirty-clip, it ain't even Wednesday
Ery'body gon' take a loss 'cause that's part of the game
sh*t, I even remember when I ain' even had nothing to my name
I got a twenty band play, I made it real quick
We puttin' belts to ass, it's just like Lil' Chris
My granny found a .62 sitting inside her couch
She made me pack and get the f*ck out the house
[Outro: Paco Panama]
Dog ass n*gga, with some dog ass ways
Now it's five-star 'telly's, but I still love them hallways
I still love them raw sales, and how they all smell
When you cook, this ain't for rooks or no halfway crooks