Tragedy lyrics

[Intro: Bigga Rankin]
(Think it's a game?)
(Pipe that sh*t up, TnT)
(Real n*gga— Real n*gga— Real n*gga Radio)
(Ant Chamberlain, that's a hundred points)
The tragedy in a man's life is not having lived while you was alive
Learning to love and lose is a part of life
It's never having loved anyone or anything that's the biggest loss of all
Wish Me Well 3, the streets is waitin'

[Verse: YFN Lucci]
Yeah, look, never put your trust in a n*gga, my mama told me that
I can't do no dirt with you n*ggas, you can't wait to rat
Big homie keep sayin' he got me, I can't wait on that
No offense, but I'ma go get mine, just pray I make it back
Okay, my main man down, his brother died and he want pay back
Have you ever seen a grown man cry in a Maybach?
Talkin' to God, the hood do anything to have Lay back
Lord know we'll do anything to have Quay back
Look, free Dog, Joe and Kenny, I can't wait to see y'all
Miss me with that sucker sh*t, boy, don't p*ss me off
We ain't duckin' no wrecks, I just wrecked my new haul
Had to cut the dead weight, I ain't no damn U-Haul
Long live KO
It's hard to spot the snakes when the grass grow
And everybody fake, but it gon' soon show
The street dirty, what you think I keep a broom for?
Huh, all this damn pain, I be needin' medication
I ain't need no education, I just stayed in rotation
Real n*gga
Never let a sucker violate me, I'm a gravedigger
Stop comparin' me to your big homie, b*tch, I'm way bigger
Huh, ring on my finger, that sh*t way bigger
Huh, thinkin' they them n*ggas, b*tch, we way bigger, huh, huh
I had to cut lil' shorty off, that n*gga too bitter
Before the song, I had them racks in the middle, huh
Now I say big bankroll, can't fit them racks in my denim
Ayy, my lil' rich-ass bro been gettin' racks since he was little, huh
Me and money back to back splats, we was little, huh
Before I was the man, I was the man in the middle, huh
Oh, before the bank jugg, we had plans to get richer, huh
Playin' with that pistol, I got a plan for my lil' one, huh
Look, they know I cashed out, I ain't put down on no nothin', huh
I ain't lookin' for no handout, I don't want nothin' from no n*gga, huh
Six years later, house got elevators
House got hella acres, nosy-ass neighbors
I got my own label, huh
I don't need no money machine, I count my own paper
[Outro: YFN Lucci]
Look, tell me why these so-called thugs act like they shootin' sh*t up
But n*ggas don't got guns, these n*ggas so made up
Talk tough online, these n*ggas funny as f*ck
Mm, mm