Rated Oakland (Jamla Is The Squad)

[Verse] Shit, we still talkin’ bout old shit? My daddy had the firebird, lookin’ at old pics I’m off for school, hand on the wheel with a cold grip Me and my nigga lookin’ for some hoes that roll quick and pole flip I guess we on the road again Receiving bullshit texts I’ll probly go and smoke again Another night, and a life I’m tryna be important in I can’t bottle these feelings need something to pour it in Jump roping on the ledge of a building in roller blades Even if I do slip it’ll take me a couple days Cause on the way down I’m flipping off everybody that let me drop I’m gon’ kill ‘em, videotape it and make em watch Circle the block, 3:46 no time wasted Before he shot communicated in sign language I’m on a road I never been on Ironically I know my way around so let me spin on professional Up in a room I play a tune from my MacBook Fuck a white glove I leave prints like bad crooks I’m in a nightmare, me and [?] walk into a place I never been to Everybody’ll get you Pay a price and then leave like a movie you can’t sit through Niggas can’t rap why the fuck they even attempt to? Bodies of water can’t swim through, call Colombus My phone broke I’m robbin’ banks lookin’ for numbers Only working for summers, bitches with bad bodies The car crash ain’t hurt, but shit the class got me Where’s Rocky when Bullwinkle be bullshittin’? I see demons on my timeline pull-pittin’ I told 9th I’m in full rhythm I told Phil I got this So if you want a sub in the pool pimpin’ Rock-a-bye baby me and my lady be fly high Twisted, we hippies in the sixties wearin’ tie-dye Cut the parachute and tell em “skydive” A angel outside of the gate waving at me every time I fly by My first 48 k’s turn to a sci-fi Another letter to open, that’s word to Cyhi, I mean that’s word to Ca$h Verbalizing that high five what up to HU rockin’ umbrellas in the ma-tai That’s bottom shit, somewhere probly hanging like bottom lips On the top floor getting top from your bottom bitch No second round, not even a bottom pick Every pit that I fall in is bottomless Tell me what your problem is? When I die will my city throw a party as big as Christopher Wallace’s? I need more than sixteen, feelin’ like Andre Death threats was just a side, now for the entree From treetopping to box to Bombay Like how the fuck he go from Sean May to Kanye? Oakland nigga