Demrick & Dj Hoppa - What's Next

What's Next Lyrics

[Hook: Demrick]
Niggas got a lot to say, I’m ok with that
Just stay out my way, we don’t play with that (No, no, no)
I came from around the way, I got away with that
So roll me another, we gone smoke them things back to back, back to back

[Verse 1: Demrick]
I been smoking for a week, man I’m loaded
I’ve been noted, I’ve been quoted as the coldest nigga flowing
Never slowing down for nothing, fuck it, got to keep it going
We on stage for the night, got a flight in the morning
Like damn, got to thank god for a new day
I used to clean my Vans up with toothpaste
Now I got fans and my plans in a suitcase
Shit I been in Japan drinking 40s with a couple bad shorties
Asked em do you want to orgy and that’s real shit
Imma let you deal with it for me
Jet fuel fly, let the raw papers burn up
Ain’t concerned much, I’m all about the turn up
Thinking back on the blocks where I served up
People talking like there’s places that I can’t come back to
I can say that’s natural, they gone get at you
When you doing what they can’t do


[Verse 2: Emilio Rojas]
Contemplating my next move
Cause when they want what you got they don’t respect you
And they show it every time their mouths are open
That they hoping that we throw in the towel, but now we soaking in sun rays
Washington Heights, the whole city riding
Now we the shit to them same hoes that shitted on us
Sipping so much champagne we got liver problems
All these women rushing the stage like they was little mama
Venezuelan kid from the upper
I learned how to be a man from the strength of my mother
My team a family, we giving thanks to each other
She give me good pussy, I’m a bad motherfucker
On my second passport, and it’s half full
I’m in a hotel gym doing back rolls
I ain’t lost my drive at all, I hit the back roads
And now I’m back at these cats’ throats, brrrt


[Verse 3: Lunar C]
All my moneys off the books, no one’s taxing that shit
The only check I ever signed were titties in Europe
Talk off and you might see why you rappers ain't like me
Swinging but none of your punches are landing that Tai Chi
I write rhymes, burn weed, then fuck mouths
I count the money while your girl keeps the look out
The tour's into the third week I'm run down
But I'll be going hard till my work visa runs out
A bit hyperactive when I don’t smoke
I flip at motherfuckers random like freestyle gymnastics
I like my lasses thick like molasses
Yeah, dumb fat bitches is what I find attractive
Got this beat from Hoppa, smoking swishers in the Gold Coast
You was at home on your sofa eating cold toast
Almost made it, probably won’t make it back
As long as I get paid off this shit, I’m okay with that


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