3 Stories

[Produced by Kaytranada] [Verse 1] Walked up three stories just to see shorty Each story I walked up had its own story Oh lordy, real shit, no glory Weirdos, loners, stoners, yellin families Get to shorty door, step in its anatomy And I study that shit from the hips to the tits To little back dimples I peep while I hit Even the feets is ripped, shit If the feet look sweet, the feet needs licks Once her lips hit dick, it leave me sick I hold it, unfold it, bone it, skeet quick That’s as much about the body that I need to know Turn to shorty “Mami, I need to go” “Papi you said you’d spend the evening though” Is what she said to me, eventually I calm her down Went down the stairs, open up the door, hit with a wall of sound In the city all alone, thousand people all around In the city all alone, thousand people all around [Verse 2] Take a turn, at this point my main concern Where the buds everyday I burn so I can grub I need at least a dub, but I only got ten so the weed’s a dub I been walking for a minute now I’m weak as fuck I need to take a seat but only got this motherfucking street, I’m stuck But then it hit me, I know who got tree for us And yeah boy, I’m talking that real sour Tired, thought of the fire gave me will power Get off my ass and walk right down to silver towers Man now it’s just me and the kids Big boy spliff, pork buns coming out the fridge And homies mines bottles getting swigged So then I sip, sip, then I sip some more To the moment I was drenched and I had to go Playing corners left me on the floor Get up, dust myself up to the corner store I needed eats, now I’m sauced in the streets, had to stop Lost in the sauce, walking east but hardly I could walk I finally found a cab that let me rock, I hopped in Told him where to let me off I told him where to let me off [Verse 3] Sticking my head up out that taxi cabby He let me light in the back seat actually Open the window all he ask me naturally I looked through the glass, see some shabby Of the cabi tryna pass me, pass me Another day for your ass, we max speed Hair blowin' in the wind, that’s a win No matter what type of whip we be in Even if it ain’t a Benz We been around the east river with the spins Just tryna get back up to our ends Fact that I’m drunk what, tuck me into bed You don’t get me God, then you don’t get the squad Feel like it’s out Akira crusing up the FDR [Outro] You know the thing with Patrick is that the guy eats, sleeps, and shits fuckin' lyrics. You know what I’m sayin', that’s all the fuckin' guys knows how to do. If he doesn’t have rapping he’s dead, you know what I’m saying, he can’t do nothing else. He can’t wipe his fuckin' ass in so many fuckin' ways. He can’t clean up his room. He can’t do his laundry. All that motherfucker can do is throw rhymes, see words in his fuckin' sleep, and just like put things together and telling stories of his generation. And I feel like since I met him, the kid, all he ever did was just fuckin' rap