LYRICS
Use A− / A+ to adjust text sizeFuel (Feat. JID)
Smoking trees, I'm ridin' 'roundCome to my side of townLately, it's been goin', goin', goin', goin', goin' down(Look, uh, look)All of my niggas gon' ride with itIn the pocket, the rocket like Kellen MondMama told me the power was in the tongueBut it probably ain't powerful as a gunAll of you little cowards get devouredI'm givin' out flowers to anyoneI ain't been out the house in a minute'cause I ain't wit' it if the money is miniatureI been mindin' my business, I'm business-mindedI been spendin' some time with the minister'Cause them niggas spinnin' shitand still sinnin' in the City of God and it's sinisterTry to pray and rеpent in a synagogueor a mosque, a tеmple, a churchThem brown skin's sentiment niggas hurtin'And murder's a common courtesy, for certainlyR.I.P. be on the shirt, search, lurk, murksquirt, dirt, first (Forty-eight)My nigga doin' four plus eight without a court dateTalked the other day, he say he doin' okayHe good, he gainin' weight, then got a sharp shankHe made, he say they play, they gotta partakeHomie got a heart full of hateand a face full of war paintEyes all red, full of rageand it's hard to escape from a dark placeEast side niggas from the A, niggas all agesTryna sell a pound of the dog cageAll the OGs 'round town was our ageDanger, sex, and drugs, X and R ratedDanger, sex, and drugs, shit be outrageousBut don't get this shit fucked up, my boyYa lucked up once, then ya doubled upI dribble and pass it to the cup and triple-double itGet to the basket, get the cash and cuddle upCover up, bundle up, batter up (Batter up)Um, talk a lot of smack and I could back it upShawty wanna shag, wanna shack it upI can put her pussy on the platter like a platypusNappy-head nigga, hair natted upI said, "Barbara," a nigga tatted upI won't argue, nigga mad as fuck'Cause they ain't compatible, I'm finna catapultBut niggas know it's goin'(Down, down, down, down, do-do-do-do—)If I run out of fuel, I won'tWhat the fuck y'all gon' do if I don'tRun out of fuel?(Down, down, down, down, do-do-do-do—)That scares the fuck out of youFor a couple decades (Brrt)Been lettin' this TEC spray (Brrt)From that day that I met Dre (Brrt)So you liable to catch strays (Brrt)From the second you press play (What?)I suggest they (What?)Do not test like an essay (Why?)'Cause like where my homies out west stay (Yeah)We can just say (What?)I'm like an R-A-P-E-R (Yeah)Got so many S-As (S-As), S-As (Huh)Wait, he didn't just spell the word "rapper"and leave out a P, did he? (Yep)R.I.P., rest in peace, BiggieAnd Pac, both of y'all should be living (Yep)But I ain't tryna beef with him (Nope)'Cause he might put a hit on me like"Keefe D, get him"And that's the only way you're gonna be killing me (Nah)Ain't gonna be on no beat, silly (Yeah)I beat the beat silly, on the grind like teeth grittingCall me "obesity" (Why?)You think it's over? Wait, it's just beginningDiss me and it ain't gonna be pretty (Nah)Used to be yea tallThen I grew a little each day'til I became GodLike James Toddnow your arms are too short to BK brawlIndeed, they small like DJ Paul (Woo)My new Benz better than your truck by farBitch, suck my ballsYou either smoke crackor you're playin' stickball in the street'Cause you must be on baseif you thinkin' you can touch my car (Yeah)But if the whole world was out to get you (What?)It'd turn you to a powder keg tooKyle Rittenhouse, spittin' roundsthe TEC shoots like (Look out, brrt)And that ain't no sound effect (Woo)Neither was that, SIG Sauer lets looseI don't condone gun violence at schools (Nah)But I can't get these voices out my head(Hey, let's go, one, two)They're putting words in my mouthlike alphabet soupGot the most content on the continentAnd constant compliments give me confidence (I'm a)A cross of common sense and incompetence (Uh)I'm cognizant that conflicts are consequence (What?)Of accomplishments accomplished through competitionIf Kon coulda conked himinto unconsciousnessThough conscious, I conjure this King Kong and justCall me "Kamikaze,"I'm concoctin' this (Woo, my bad)Nobody's sixteens are touchingThese motherfuckin' index fingers fuckin' the ninaClutchin' the nine millimeter, tuckin' the heatGot the toaster like an English muffinNo, I mean "toast to" like you drink to somethin'But it's in a holster, I proceed to bust andFuck around and get popped like Halyna HutchinsLike I'm Alec Baldwinwhat I mean is buckin' you downCoup de grâce then, right between the fuckin' eyesShoot 'em all then, if you think you're fuckin' with meYou're gonna suffer the fuckin' repercussionsThe reaper's comin' to heathen, I need it from meI keep replenishing fuelwhile the beat I'm punishingIf I run out of fuel, I won'tWhat the fuck y'all gon' do if I don'tRun out of fuel?(Down, down, down, down, do-do-do-do—)That scares the fuck out of you
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