How by KT Rasta Lyrics
[Intro: KT Rasta]
[Hook: KT Rasta]
How you gone tell a young n**ga don't smoke
How you gone tell him don't serve dope
How you gone tell a young n**ga don't shoot
How you gone tell a young n**ga what to do
How you gone tell a young n**ga how to move
He trying to get rich, ain't thinking bout school
Can't get caught lacking, gotta keep that tool
They killed his homie, what the f*ck he gone do
(2x)
[Verse 1: KT Rasta]
How you gone stop a young n**ga my age
Head f*cked up and his mind full of rage
Got n**gas in jail locked up in a cage
Why all these hoes wanna change my ways
Dumb lil' b*tch get the f*ck out my face
If a n**ga act tough I might catch a case
F*ck the police, middle fingers to the jakes
My n**gas blow guns then they hop them gates
R.i.p Marcus, I say it everyday
R.i.p True Scott, I say it everyday
R.i.p Tall folks, I say it everyday
Gotta get this money, get the f*ck out my way
If you got your own money then buy your own place
If you snitch on your homie, then n**ga you fake
Never been phoney, never been two-faced
Bought hella guns just to keep me safe
B*tch you know I'm balling, like E.A
E.A Sports, I keep that torch
You a mama's boy, You ain't hopped off the porch
I count my money when I get bored
Turned your b*tch into a whore
N**ga you a little boy
My n**gas balling, check the score
Make some money, make some more
[Hook: KT Rasta]
[Hook: KT Rasta]
How you gone tell a young n**ga don't smoke
How you gone tell him don't serve dope
How you gone tell a young n**ga don't shoot
How you gone tell a young n**ga what to do
How you gone tell a young n**ga how to move
He trying to get rich, ain't thinking bout school
Can't get caught lacking, gotta keep that tool
They killed his homie, what the f*ck he gone do
(2x)
[Verse 1: KT Rasta]
How you gone stop a young n**ga my age
Head f*cked up and his mind full of rage
Got n**gas in jail locked up in a cage
Why all these hoes wanna change my ways
Dumb lil' b*tch get the f*ck out my face
If a n**ga act tough I might catch a case
F*ck the police, middle fingers to the jakes
My n**gas blow guns then they hop them gates
R.i.p Marcus, I say it everyday
R.i.p True Scott, I say it everyday
R.i.p Tall folks, I say it everyday
Gotta get this money, get the f*ck out my way
If you got your own money then buy your own place
If you snitch on your homie, then n**ga you fake
Never been phoney, never been two-faced
Bought hella guns just to keep me safe
B*tch you know I'm balling, like E.A
E.A Sports, I keep that torch
You a mama's boy, You ain't hopped off the porch
I count my money when I get bored
Turned your b*tch into a whore
N**ga you a little boy
My n**gas balling, check the score
Make some money, make some more
[Hook: KT Rasta]