No More Parties In LA — аккорды и текст

Hey baby you forgot your Ray Bans

And my sheets still orange from your spray tan

Em

It was more than soft porn for the К-man

She remember my Sprinter, said "I was in the grape van"

Uhm, well cutie, I like your bougie booty

Come Erykah Badu me, well, let's make a movie

Hell, you know my repertoire is like a wrestler

I show you the ropes, connect the dots

A country girl that love Hollywood

Mama used to cook red beans and rice

Now it's Denny's, 4 in the morning, spoil your appetite

Liquor pouring and niggas swarming your section with erection

Smoke in every direction, middle finger pedestrians

R&B singers and lesbians, rappers and managers

Music and iPhone cameras

This shit unanimous for you, it's damaging for you, one thing

That pussy should only be holding exclusive rights to me, I mean

He flew you in this motherfucker on first class

Even went out his way so you could check in an extra bag

Now you wanna divide the yam like it equate the math?

That shit don't add up, you're making them mad as fuck

She said she came out here to find an A-list rapper

I said baby, spin that round and say the alphabet backwards

You're dealing with malpractice,

don't kill a good nigga's confidence

Just cause he a nerd and you don't know what a condom is

The head still good though, the head still good though

Em

Ladies say "Nam Myoho Renge Куо"

Make a nigga say big words and act lyrical, make me get spiritual

Make me believe in miracles, Buddhist monks

and Captain Crunch cereal

Lord have mercy, thou will not hurt me

Five buddies all herded up on a Thursday

Bottle service, head service, I came in first place

The opportunity, the proper top of breast and booty cheek

The pop community, I mean these bitches come with union fee

And I walk through with ease, moving units through consumer streets

Then my shoe released, she was kicking in gratuity

And yeah G, I was all for it

D

She said К Lamar, you kind of dumb to be a poet

I'mma put you on game for the lames

that don't know they're a rookie

Instagram is the best way to promote some pussy

Scary, scary

No more parties in LA

Please baby, no more parties in LA

Friday night tryna make it into the city

Breakneck speeds, passenger seat something pretty

Thinking back to how I got here in the first place

Second class bitches wouldn't let me on first base

A backpack nigga with luxury taste buds

And a Louis Vuitton store, got all of my pay stubs

Got pussy from beats I did for niggas more famous

When did I become a list? I wasn't even on a list

Strippers get invited to where they only get hired

When I get on my Steve Jobs, somebody gon' get fired

I was uninspired since Lauryn Hill retired

And 3 Stacks, man, you preach it to the choir

Any rumor you heard about me was true and legendary

I done got Lewinsky and paid secretaries

For all my niggas with babies by bitches

That use their kids as meal tickets

Not knowing the disconnect from the father

The next generation will be the real victims

I can't fault 'em really

I remember Amber told my boy no

matter what happens she ain't going back to Philly

Back to our regularly scheduled programmin'

Of week content of slow jammin'

But don't worry, this one's so jammin'

You know that LA is so jammin'

I be thinkin' every day

Mulholland Drive, need to put up some got damn barricades

I be paranoid every time

The pressure, the problem ain't I be drivin'

The problem is I be textin'

My psychiatrist got kids that I inspired

First song they played to me was 'bout their friend

that just died

Textin' and drivin' down Mulholland Drive

That's why I'd rather take the 405

G

I be worried 'bout my daughter, I be worried 'bout Кim

But Saint is baby Ye, I ain't worried 'bout him

I had my life threatened by best friends who had selfish intents

What I'm supposed to do?

Ride around with a bulletproof car and some tints?

Every agent I know know I hate agents

I'm too black, I'm too vocal, I'm too flagrant

Something smellin' like shit, that's the new fragrance

It's just me, I Do it my way, bitch

Some days I'm in my Yeezys, some days I'm in my Vans

If I knew y'all made plans I wouldn't've popped the Xans

I know some fans who thought I wouldn't rap like this again

But the writer's block is over, emcees cancel your plans

I'm 38 years old, a 8 year old with rich nigga problems

Tell my wife that I hate the road so I ain't never drivin'

It took 6 months to take the Maybach all matted out

And my assistance crashed as soon as they backed it out

Got damn, got up of fade, I might slam

Pink fur, got Nori dressing like Cam, thank God for me

Whole family gettin' money, thank God for E!

I love rockin' jewelry, a whole neck full

Bitches say he funny and disrespectful

I feel like Pablo when I'm workin' on my shoes

I feel like Pablo when I see me on the news

I feel like Pablo when I'm workin' on my house

Tell 'em party's in here, we don't need to Go out

We need the turbo thots, high speed, turbo thots

Drop-drop-drop-drop it like Robocop

She brace herself and hold my stomach, good dick'll Do that

She keep pushin' me back, good dick'll Do that

She push me back when the dick Go too deep

This good dick'll put your ass to sleep

Get money, money, money, money

Big, big money, money, money, money

And as far as real friends tell my cousins I love 'em

Even the one that stole the laptop, you dirty motherfucker