Cudda Been lyrics

[Verse 1]
I'm never sentimental to the instrumental
Smoke presidential, in this rap game, residential
You wanna judge me, ho, well I'ma need to see credentials
Plain and simple, I'm plannin' on ownin' your expenditures
And all your rentals, I'm feelin' anxiety, knowin' it's mental
Life's inspired by the sunlight shinin' through the window
Fly myself to some shows when I'm gone in the winter
Home right before Christmas, receive it all on your wishlist, kiddo
The dad I am makes me wish I had one when I was little
Raisin' him, watchin' him grow, the kid I live through
Better to know what you have than to find what you forgot
And you left more than a scab, bruises, a couple of knots
Worse than gettin' shot, a boy growin' up without a pops
It's detrimental, the penitentiary countin' down on the clock
Karma's addin' up by the second and catchin' the ones in question
The answers I gave directs you, prayin' that Heaven's blessin' you

[Hook]
Growin' up as a minority
Gettin' rich was my only priority
Can't take the hood out a n*gga, it's a part of me
And if you wanna live my life then you should martyr me
Chillin' with a chick, Charmane, she drinkin' Chardonnay
I'm smokin' weed while we bangin' Tha Carter 3
Pardon me, but you don't want no part of me
I'm a gladiator, b*tch, come and spar with me
[Verse 2]
It's disturbin' when you say you ain't worth it
If you had a better mindset you would be a better person
I believe in you, I know they're just words, worded it perfect
I keep the herb lit, it grounds me, when disconnected it's earthless
Sex is overrated and privacy's up for purchase
They know you can't afford it, throw it in your face on purpose
Remember what you do it for when you get some dough
I do it for the paper, b*tch you already know
In the band who played the sax and wore a tie and a bow
The guy with the fro after practice gettin' high for the low
Jheri curl minus the glow or have broken bifocals
Couldn't tell the difference between a dime and ho
I thought you was a hustler, never grinded before
Nah shorty's pumpin' music by the mom and pop's store
Made beats of his own, wrote poetry to his songs
He kept it from home cause moms would throw a heap in the bone

[Hook]