Carter Son Lyrics – YoungBoy Never Broke Again

You’re a Genius, McFly
AI
It’s the Carter’s son
The Carter’s
Turn me up a lil’

Picture me, new 3D denim, I’m city rollin’ (Rollin’)
But did I mention this my own clothin’?
The fuck you mean?
Made nigga, bought my own Rollie
But if them crackers pull me over, they gon’ say I stole it
Good mornin’, we on it, I went bought two S trophies
My father left my sis and bros, to them, I feel I owed it
But let’s not be heroic, ’cause everybody roguish
They don’t want us totin’ guns, but they let the fuckin’ killers tote it
Let’s take a ride and see, though, where them people be, though
Colt 45, the grip design, bought this bitch from Casino
Soprano, no Soprino, we live life like Yung Bino
Had a show in B-more, after that post on the block with Chino (I’m a hustlin’ motherfucker)
Look for a star on every hundred, C note
I’m the top on YouTube, fuck a new school, I don’t use no Vevo
These niggas ’round me, they too cruel, they bust tools and die for me, though
I don’t pay money for no life, the murder pay off me, so

Came out alright
But I’m blinded from the life, I can’t see, though
Got juveniles on the block, thirty stick hangin’ out the Glock
Bandana tied ’round the clip, and they go all out for me, though

Sucked all the pain up, let’s fuck the game up
Plenty niggas on the block pushin’ that rock (It’s the Carter’s son)
You got your change up, they brought your name up
When it’s war, we wet they block, and when it’s said, this shit’ll never be done
I can’t say I’m fucking with all this involvement
These niggas ain’t right and they ballin’
I don’t give a fuck, no, I call up Osama, my baba
Like, “Load up and come and rob all them” (Rob all them)
Venezuela ventilator
My first trip to Georgia made ’em
Some companions with ambitions, was
Double G, NBA native
I wish baptism could’ve saved us
Never broke until the grave in
Excuse ourselves, knock on the tables
I make a pussy bite the pavement
I can’t say I’m fucking with all this involvement
These niggas ain’t right and they ballin’
I don’t give a fuck, no, I call up Osama, my baba
Like, “Load up and come and rob all them” (Rob all them)

Came out alright
But I’m blinded from the life, I can’t see, though
Got juveniles on the block, thirty stick hangin’ out the Glock
Bandana tied ’round the clip, and they go all out for me, though

That’s my son, that’s my slime
He on my dime, it’s the Carter’s son