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    Field Mob / Lyrics

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    "Project Dreamz" Lyrics

    Field Mob

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    Verse 1 [Boondox]:
    Rent thirty days late, gotta be gone by Saturday
    Tired of sellin' cocaine, folks tryna' trap me
    Every night dreamin 'bout livin life lavish
    A watch full of karats, a candy coated Caddy
    Off the show flo', sittin on fo' Vouges
    Oak wood gear shift, steer, and dash door
    Choppin on seventeen inch indies
    Bling bling from my mouth to my pinky
    Enough about my jewelry, grill, and my Fleetwood
    Tryna still live stable so my folks can eat good
    House sittin out on the hill to sleep good
    Livin peaceful, just like we should
    Money legal, no more sellin reefer
    No more feds tryna stick me like a needle
    When it's cold outdo's come in I heat ya
    You ain't gotta walk in the sun, I A.C. ya
    Don't worry 'bout that burgular comin to creep ya
    He trapped by alarms and the millimeter
    I'm a do or die ol' playa for my people, follow a leader I'm my brotha's keeper, for real

    [Chorus-both (Boondox and Kalage)]
    I'ma have me a big nice Caddy
    House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy
    Live life happy and I'm still nappy
    Makin legal money, no feds tryna' trap me
    I'ma have me a big nice Caddy
    House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy
    Live life happy and I'm still nappy
    Nigga, legal money, no feds tryna' trap me
    If you ever been broke put your hands up
    You been broke put your hands up, put your hands up
    You ever been broke put your hands up
    You been broke put your hands up, put 'em up

    Verse 2 [Kalage]:

    What ya know 'bout havin no dough, no coat for the winter
    Remember, we poor folk
    Most cut yolk and smoke 'ports, cut throats and ya dope hoe
    Talk about they wanna 'Lac with four do's, no Vogues
    Wood kit and Momo's
    Outfits- Polo, pockets- so swole,
    Jenny Craig called- Escalade hog in the yard
    Breakin off ya folks too, belly full of soul food
    Chitt'lins, greens, pork chops, green beens
    Yeah I pray for that, each and every day I rap
    I rap with God, 'cause I feel you ain't really safe with gats
    We escape slacks, but government helped in welfare
    My folk cries to the law and ain't no help there
    We ain't had much, the less to brag about, but mo' to lose
    I ran the street, mama told me go to school
    But now I got a chance to change thangs and maintain
    Mo' so, I ain't gotta slang 'caine no mo'
    Hell yeah boy, you really understand dirt
    Well I'ma rap and you gon' clap until your hands hurt
    I ain't the only person feel like I feel, got ta live like I live
    And wanna chill, for real


    Verse 3 [Boondox and Kalage (B=Boondox; K=Kalage)]:

    [B] Now put your hands up if you're broke folks tried
    to spoil ya
    With fried bologna sandwiches and sugar water
    [K] Put ya hands up, if you feel my hurt
    Have you ever bathed with soap the size of a Cert
    [B] Don't disguise the dirt then, 'cause we all know rocks
    It's the real reason furniture go to the pawn shop
    [K] 'Cause ya crackhead cuz smokin the car antennas
    [B] Understand see...
    [K] It's a junkie in every family
    [B] 'Member hand-me-down, tight pants, lookin slim in 'em
    If they too big...
    [K] What you do?
    [B] Put a hem in 'em
    [K] 'Member talkin over the loud sounds when the wind blow
    'Cause the trash bag's replacin yo' car window
    [B] Man, I been po'
    [K] I been poor
    [Both] Man, we been po'!
    That's how it is in the Field, for real

    [Chorus 2x]
    This song was submitted on June 28th, 2006 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Amin Anwar Miller, Darion T. Crawford, Emanuel Anderson, Shawn T. Johnson.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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