Phill Jones lyrics
Coming for your spot g
Uh, I'm coming for your spot
Uh
Ain't nothing you can do when I choose to take it
Homie just slowing and coming a little bit complacent
Really becoming hard to look at, hard to face it
You falling behind, hard to sound like me
Copied and paste shit
Why you huffing and puffing g, surely you are not tired
Imma take your barn raiser, a lot fucking higher
Take your bomb ass from a seller to a buyer
Got your girl screaming in the back, acting like she leading the choir
Bitch I'm Phill Jones bitch, I never retire
I'll say it again
I'm Phill Jones bitch, I never retire
I'll be hitting three's until I'm eighty-four, pause
Na fuck that, I'll be hitting three's until I'm eighty-four
Just cause, big girls need loving too
I wish I had the confidence
Back handed compliments
Call me Djokovic, na
Call me the doctor, the way I'm inspecting your esophagus
This my year g, na fuck like the Warriors
Act na, broke, have to pay change, just because you can
Give ya financials order, rung up Big Cheese, personal tax man
You twenty k in debt, I'd hate to be her mans
I hope all your dreams come true
Are you sure mans? Maybe you bit off more than you can chew
Maybe it was shit plans
Wealdstone Raider, you want some? You got no fans
I got no worries sipping my ties with an immaculate tan
If I was you, I'd give up, your career's looking dire
But ain't you, I'm Phill Jones bitch, never retire
[Twenty, left to play, Phill Jones! He's got a victory, that's a six inch nail in the coffin. Phill Jones has put the Breakers on his back in the last eight minutes and bringing them home tonight]
