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"Success" lyrics by BAYSIQLY
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"Success"


Yesssssss!
Ahahaha...
I feel good, man!

[Hook:]
Life, pain
Stress, Success
You could fuck all these hoes till you count these chips
No, the world wouldn't give a shit, big dog you living
Life, pain
Stress, Success
You could mack all these broads till you count these chips
No, the world wouldn't give a shit, big dog you living

[Verse 1:]
Float like a butterfly, no I ain't the greatest yet
But God damn it I'm following his footsteps
But big shoes to fill
And big homie E told me just get 'em and make moves to kill
And show no mercy, no hundred yards
No rims, just fists, no mask, no jerseys
Four corners with yellow ropes all around
Referees in blue, who's next to go down
Count 1, 2 and homie can't get up
Somebody tore his shit up, his trainer's all fed up
I'm better, I swear I train hard for this moment
Life in the slums got me feeling dry when it's pouring yeah
I water proof rain, I can't feel pain,
I train hard so I'm solid like a steel frame
I'm tryna go from Foot Locker
To the next Mr. Michael Shoemacher, feel me!

[Hook:]
Life, pain
Stress, Success
You could fuck all these hoes till you count these chips
No, the world wouldn't give a shit, big dog you living
Life, pain
Stress, Success
You could mack all these broads till you count these chips
No, the world wouldn't give a shit, big dog you living

[Verse 2:]
Life to the fullest, but this is round two
Just, bob and weave and let it move around you, damn
But naw fuck it, just go for the kill
And punch straight through it, these niggas straight foolish
Thinking life is amusing, party and bullshit
Hoes, games, and liquor, a tough kid to figure, but
I'm highly driven when it comes to bagging dinners
I'd open up a store and let the public shop for me
I'm through with sob stories, I'm chasing high glory
High rise presidential, two nine stories
Up 18 floors, but this is round seven
Eleven foot reach, life's got me roped up but I
Jab and hit, I move and stick
Like what else you got for me you ain't proving shit
I'm a regular dude, and I ain't moving bricks
I ain't pulling tricks, just a bad motherfucker living

[Hook:]
Life, pain
Stress, Success
You could fuck all these hoes till you count these chips
No, the world wouldn't give a shit, big dog you living
Life, pain
Stress, Success
You could mack all these broads till you count these chips
No, the world wouldn't give a shit, big dog you living

[Verse 3:]
It's the final countdown but I ain't Rocky Balboa
I'm just a black nigga who the world doesn't know of
I could open up doors, and free my people
Or wait till the end where there is no sequel, huh
And it's illegal for me to take jabs
And not make something of myself perpetrating death
Niggas walk around like lost souls
But I'm a tough pro, I got a strike like Russ Crowe
Jim Braddock himself, Joe Lewis living life foolish
Naw I'm fighting for belts
And I'm fighting for pride, this is 1988 Mike Tyson
Ain't no way we could tie, yeah
Like the ring indeed, in the streets we bleed
Niggas die the same way as Apollo Creed, damn
Too many shots to the head
Difference is here, these ropes ain't red, holla!

[Hook:]
Life, pain
Stress, Success
You could fuck all these hoes till you count these chips
No, the world wouldn't give a shit, big dog you living
Life, pain
Stress, Success
You could mack all these broads till you count these chips
No, the world wouldn't give a shit, big dog you living

[Thanks to None for these lyrics]

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