[Hook] x2 A youngin never had much But these fake ass rappers tryna act tough You ain't really tryna act rough But your baby mama, she just tryna act up [Verse 1] Born alone, die alone Young and on the microphone Got the type of shit to get you looking for a chromosome Murder to the white and I ain't talking bout an Al Capone What you talk? Homies putting on Better move along When I was a baby I was rapping, I was home alone [?] And I had to do this on my own Mama out there getting it Her son is only getting grown Little did she know that her baby boy was getting blown Yeah they know Yeah they never look From their [?] Mama told me stay in school Mama told me read the books But I was a beast and writing verses, followed by the hooks Married to the game Has drove me crazy, just a little shook What it take to be the best rapper in the industry Seeing every sucka on the top is fucking killing me Seeing my ambitions go to waste is booty energy Looking for a [?] But I ain't talking bout it's anarchy [?] your homie Cause you know I got a tendency To easily Bust a sucka quick without you telling me [Hook] x2 A youngin never had much But these fake ass rappers tryna act tough You ain't really tryna act rough But your baby mama, she just tryna act up [Verse 2] Born alone, die alone Busy writing every poem Do this for my mama She record and put me in this home Then she hustled every night I pay off all her fucking loans You gon' break your back for me? That's why I'm writing all these songs So you won't have to hustle You won't have to break another bone This the tune that got me turning up when I was on the train Homie I be on my way Listen just another day Hang low Money coming soon, homie Angel Put him on a song He put me on so I put on for him When the money come I swear my family will get it all Promise to my brothers we gon get it when it comes to us Never on my knees For the sleep But I stay woke So, while I get the cheese All these others stay broke Soft boys coming Feeling kinda like some PlayDoh Lay low Say no To all of the fake hoes Lay low Stay [?] We lacking on the bank rolls Lay low I'mma do this shit because I said so Cover me in rubble with them tinted ass windows Feeling like the only rapper hanging with the gringos With the tinted ass windows Feeling like Trinidad James when I hit, yuh When I motherfucking hit, yuh Young gold on me Young kid got game Got flame Got spirit I'm a god, oh damn, uh You don't know him, what's his name? Toyotomi Hideyoshi got game Man I do this shit, uh Till these fuckers can't breathe [?] [?] I'mma fiend for this shit I don't even know Till I got bands you won't know I ain't got no bands I ain't got no fans Gotta die in no pants Yeah I'm doing my thing What's his name? Toyotomi Hideyoshi What's his name? what's his name? Toyotomi Hideyoshi That's it And I ain't ever hit a spliff And I ain't ever hit a bitch I just sing for her I just read with her Spent a stack with her This the type of shit That I'mma hear with ya I rocky Hilfiger
Read the complete lyrics to "Tuffboygethurt" by Toyotomi Hideyoshi in 2015. On Lyrks you can follow along with the full text, explore the artist's discography, and discover related songs. The track is often categorized under Rap.
"Tuffboygethurt" is performed by Toyotomi Hideyoshi. in 2015 This page provides the full lyric text for fans who want to sing along, study the songwriting, or compare versions across releases. Lyrks organizes lyrics by artist and song slug so you can bookmark and share a stable URL.
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"Tuffboygethurt" is credited to Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Songwriting credits may include additional writers listed on the release; check the credits section on this page for linked collaborators.
Album information for "Tuffboygethurt" is not available in our database yet. You can still read the full lyrics on this page.
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