Hit-Boy - What A Feeling lyrics

[Verse 1 : Hit-Boy] This that pimp sh** This sh** feel like some old late ‘90s type sh** The sh** I grew up on, but I did the beat Say hello to the young god of the game, popular name HB, all I drop is the flame, nah, n***a we are not in the same boat Car, plane, bus or a stage coach Just a bunch of young n***as from the ghetto Now the way they court us is resemblin Carmelo Ballin, Don Perrion, keep chicks crawling, bossing I ain't talking dental but n***a, we stay flossing Hands down, so the crowd keep their hands up I live in a high rise, that's why she keep her a** up I'm the ghetto black trump, spread the word, spread the word Me and my n***as are on now, roger that, Federer, never scurred [Hook x2] What a feeling, ain't worry about much, just countin these millions What a feeling, gettin top in the Benz, but it ain't no ceiling What a feeling, ain't worry about them n***as that's over there grillin' Cause ya'll don't really really want much Y'all don't really really want much [Verse 2 : Price Tag] This for the n***as that can't, never had a rank But be going hard in the paint Bout it bout it like a no limit tank That's a little dame, tell her to come up over here and plank What a fresh n***a too addictive like mephamphetamine These other rappers I'm better than We're going somewhere in my leather jeans Coming up mad I never had a dad Ridin' with my momma with no AC in that Cadillac Went from trying get outfits, to youngins to in them house lits Now the money coming like a baseball pitch, fast n***a, we all rich [Hook x2] [Verse 3 : Kent M$ney] Hundred K on the block Money all the time with a pay on the watch 22s caught an eye, but the funny thing is that I came and I stock Got a raise but I drop, young n***a move around like I'm posed to f** love, love tell me what that throw do, let a n***a coach you, then I can't approach you My n***as knock n***as out Tyson Your n***as, my n***as let bygones My n***as make your n***as buy guns From the pump if a n***a speak with dry lungs My taste high, this weed loud, I'm ignant, I'm getting it Ringtones can't imagine this picnic, n***a keep dreaming I'm feeding that figment [Hook x2] |Verse 4 : Oktane] I ain't even had to write this, grill on while I rap getting like this You hear them n***as left click then right click Runnin' around, always talking about my clique See, these n***as won't hold me back Cause these n***as won't hold these racks Tell them broke boy stop it Cause they ain't gonna stop my profit, no Hit got M's, I got Gs, you will take L's, cause you are not these Young G's k**ing everything, Nazis Last letter k**ed everything not Z That mean A through Y is gonna die, while I count up this bread and ride out with Price On the pa**enger side while your girl sending Jpegs You n***as can't defeat me like fake legs [Hook x2]