Crack Sandwich Lyrics by JID is a Latest English song from the album “The Forever Story” sung by popular rapper JID. Lyrics of this song are written by JID & Nami and music produced by Christo & TBHits.
Crack Sandwich Lyrics
Gotta bring it to you cowards, y’all wanted it
Cowards, and it’s gonna be sicker than all the ni***s–
Yeah, uh, look
You can tell a ni**a like me ain’t never had shit
R.I.P., I miss my dawgs like Mike Vick
Zombies in that midnight fog, them bars sick ’em
Fall victim to a gun brawl, started over some bi**hes, huh
Ni***s trippin’, they takin’ whatever’s given
The irony when a ni**a’s starvin’, gotta grip the biscuit
Jump the fence, empty all the dishes out your kitchen
If you witness it, then click, click, click, and they spill the grits
Feel the kick, f**k a fair catch, kill ’em, who tryna take the hit?
First take go to first base, Stephen A. Smith Wess’
On the hip, talkin’ s**t like Skip
Or Shannon, sharp-shootin’ off the top of the cliff
And if I gotta bring it to you cowards then it’s gonna be sick
Put in my ten thousand hours while the clock still ticks
Zone-6, five fingers with the “Suck my d***”
Me and Izzy was slap-boxin’, ni**a bust my lip
Start fightin’, lil’ brother on some tough guy shit
But if you ever did me wrong
He on some “What’s right?” s**t
Bust a left, feel the pressure like the bus pipe drip
Blood red, rum sippin’, they ain’t cut like this, momma said
“When you fall down, stand up, get a bandage”
“I ain’t got cheeseburger money, make a sandwich”
“Why you bein’ bad? See ya dad, get your a** whipped”
Seven crackhead bad kids in a caravan
Somebody involved in stealin’, it’s on, it wasn’t
It’s gon’ be so bad
When the girl went off on Precious
The girl went off on Precious, Rosalyn went in
No, Rosalyn said, “Oh, for real, I’ll see you when you get outside”
Exactly, exactly
That’s okay, my fault, my fault, my fault
For real? No, no, no, no, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
Look, uh
You can tell a ni**a like me ain’t met a ni**a like me
Metaphysical things seen in dreams, what you believe?
You bleed, I bleed and draw blood
I’m a f**kin’ artiste, Artest with the gun
I can give my world peace
Give your world ether
Big d*** or grief, I can give your girl either
She could be the, could be the collapse of a kingdom
But king’s gotta peep the seat, word to Caesar
Remind me to keep receipts, y’all s**t weak
I ain’t worried that that bulls**t leaked
See the volumes, it speaks to your broke speakers
Ni***s breakin’ they back tryna promote some s**t that ain’t even dope
They ask for my coat when I walk through the door
God flow, I don’t walk on the floor
God knows y’all hoes
Y’all shows ain’t packin’ the door
Crackin’ the floor, I don’t even know if ni***s rappin’ no more, come on (Uh okay)
‘Round in my city, I am my shooter
Mindin’ my business, I am not you
‘Round in my city, I am my shooter
Mindin’ my business, I am not you
‘Round in my city, I am my shooter
Mindin’ my business, I am not you
‘Round in my city, I am my shooter
Mindin’ my business, how about you?
Look, uh, I do it for Royal and Rosalyn, Rachel and Carl
Izzy, Precious, Destin, strong seven kids, different blessings (Hey)
Izzy athletic as f**k, All-American star, hard head
Scholarship at a school in New Orleans
On the football s**t, but in class, he on the smart s**t (Hey)
Black man using his mind
It’s a target on your forehead
Gotta stay on point like a marksman
Make a mark, leave a footprint, went for a marching
Bro graduating so we heading to the blue state
Fam’ celebrating, granny cooking up a few cakes
Yeah, gown on with the cap like a toupee
Handed a diploma, all the Routes say, “Hooray”
Yeah, hooray, today, catch a bouquet
Tonight it probably be a movie, what’s a Blu-Ray?
I got some new Js and a fade, we hit the section
With the football team and a couple other professionals
It sound cool but really, this a confessional (Hey)
Twenty minutes in it
Precious and ‘nem went to the restroom
Said they got to hittin’ with some women and they ’bout to get kicked out
They ain’t even tell us what that s**t was about
All I really seen from the big VIP couch
Was a ni**a swing, and hit my sister right in the mouth
The bouncer tried to block the door
That way we couldn’t get out
But f**k that, the whole team bust that motherf**ker down
Now we fighting in the street, it’s like ten against twenty-three
I was seventeen, swinging on any and everything
Bing, bing, see my brother doing buddy like a boxing ring
Ros’ got a bi**h doing the hair weave sling
So beautiful, beating a** was like a family thing
Fighting together made us tighter in spite of how we would argue and scream
And now we brawling right outside of a party in New Orleans
And all the people start police-calling
Pack us inside of a paddy wagon, we sardines
To Saltine crackers that wanna shackle us in chains (Hey)
Lo and behold, they held us in a holding cell for six
Or maybe seven hours just to let us go without a stain
But who’s to blame when all of us got the same mind frame?
We like a gang, mom and pop’ll probably be proud and ashamed
Pound for pound, my sister Precious never lost a fade
Got up off the ground and she said she could hear my father sayin’
“When you fall down, stand up, get the bandage”
“I ain’t got cheeseburger money, make a sandwich”
“Why you bein’ bad? See ya dad, get your a** whipped”
Seven crackhead bad kids in a caravan, yeah
Hold on, hold on, hold on
What happened?
What happened?
What happened?
We came in the club
We’re talking, we go in the restroom
I go in the bathroom, open the door
“Dang B, you could’ve said sorry”
Ros’ said, “B, you ain’t gotta say all that
It ain’t that serious”
And she was all, “Oh, it’s that serious because you were in the bathroom”
Ros’ said, “Okay B, I got you B, come outside”
Taj, she opened the door, Rosalyn said “Roof”
I said, “Okay, we fighting”
Damn, she was in the stall
Oh the stall door
Yeah, she was peeing, girl, she pulled her pants up
She opened the door and received it (Rosalyn met her)
Ayy, you know what?
Song Details
Singer : JID
Album : The Forever Story
Lyrics : JID, Cardiak, Christo, Nami, TBHits
Music : TBHits, Nami, Groove, Christo