Kevin Gates – Major League (Instrumental)

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Kevin Gates – Major League (Instrumental)


Major League Lyrics by Kevin Gates

Well, one of these ol’ pussy-ass niggas do what y’all salute (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
Bitch-ass niggas know they actin’ cap (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
“Luca Brasi”

On the road, back to back for shows, and I ain’t get a cent off that (At all)
Back to cookin’ fish, smell like a brick, I got that scent off that (On God)
Closed doors, ones closest hurtin’ your emotions (Huh?)
Then get ’round, they fake supporters and play perfect on the socials (Hmm)
I can’t go along to get a long, I’m a big soldier (Easy)
Killa Stone reincarnatin’, all Magnolia
That other nigga, we are not the same, fall back homie (Bitch)
I am downtown, night ward, Baton Rouge, big dawg
E-Wayne, K-Wayne, B-Wayne, gettin’ off (Woo)
Meditate, Seroquel, Elavil, sick cough (Roof)
New buildin’, violated
Got shipped, ten songs
I done been up-state with niggas afraid to walk the big yard
Bad karma come to those who cross me, bust the beef here (Boom, boom)
70805, I pull up, hop off, got some street cred’
Lil’ one snuck me, he dead, that other nigga, he dead
I’m major league swingin’ this big bitch, you know how we play it
Copied all my tats, he actin’ like he put in work for this (Yeah)
You ain’t work the trench, you pussy bitch, you rode a bunch of dicks
Heal with that retinol, yeah
Four niggas in folders, yeah
Lord’s got a name for it, don’t know what to call it yet
Gunner, ward mighty, Breadwinner, John Gotti (Wah)
King Ox hit the fed, cut his dreads, kept it solid (Wah)
Tell Lil Hank, that’s my gangster, Jonathan like John Stockton
Know if I go back, I could lay back ’cause I know that he got me
[Dre?] chillin’ my accountant, buku money counters counting
I get John Wheeler, all of his responses gon’ be copied (Gone)
Pretty bitch, big booty, Texas, she responded (What up?)
Eat that dick up on command, meanin’ she in correspondence
Pretty feet, I nibble on her cheeks when we at my apartment (Oh)
All up in her arteries, I slang that dick in high performance
Real drug lord fresh, Kevin dress designer garments
Plugged in, I’ma [make colder?], opposite of boring
Really did it from the corner, graduated to a trap spot
You knew ’bout Gates, 2008, you call that bitch the Match Box
Safety pin and nitro digit scales, I’m moving crack out
Lil’ bitch off Tennessee in here with me, I blew her back out
My partner tellin’ me the game foul, I should back out
My same partner left me in a gown with my back out
Rappers got around me, my stories, they re-enact out
Real big speakers, you ain’t did no time, it just don’t add out
Vroom, Urus wide body kit, I whip the Lamb’ out
Talked about by pussy niggas who indigent with they hand out
Heroin and syringes, real militant, it should tan out
First niggas said they stand on nation business, I’m official
Feelin’ like Demar Derozan, got looked over, turned me vicious
They salute the fakes, say, “Fuck the real,” I wonder what I did ’em
I got plenty pretty women whom I won’t give no commitment
Steppin’ on these niggas, fell in love with my new mission
I know music cool, but I know sellin’ drugs would get me richer
With the shit of life sentence come with this and I’m convicted
Damn, we done run out of beat