Trouble Lyrics
| Song | Trouble |
| Artist | Emilio Rojas |
| Album | Zero Fucks Given |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| [Verse One: Emilio Rojas] | |
| Yeah, I be where the papis be, caking off of poppy seed | |
| 167th, baby, I got the whole block with me | |
| I’m where the poverty created an economy | |
| And everybody selling souls, now the Devil on a shopping spree | |
| All my people going in and out of jail | |
| I’m the lucky one, I ain’t never had no drugs to sell | |
| I just want the type of paper that you count it with a scale | |
| So if they get indicted, I could be there with the bail | |
| Everybody think they real but ain’t nobody realistic | |
| All my people doing numbers, trying not to be statistics | |
| Yeah, ‘cause we don’t wanna see no prisons | |
| But we out there on the strip ‘cause we don’t wanna lease no Civics, no | |
| Nah, they don’t wanna see Latins with investments | |
| Nah, but I been living like a legend though | |
| Yeah, you be the one with all the answers | |
| I’mma be the one they never get to question though | |
| [Hook] | |
| It could go down, ain’t nothing but trouble around here | |
| Ain’t nothing but trouble around here, it could go down | |
| Ain’t nothing but trouble around here | |
| Ain’t nothing but trouble around here | |
| It could go down, the city so cold I could see my breath | |
| The city so cold I could see my breath | |
| The city so cold I could see my breath | |
| The city so cold I could see my breath | |
| [Verse Two: N.O.R.E] | |
| Yo, the new Hector Lavoe, you should respect me | |
| Them killers all around me gonna protect me | |
| And the condo is two floors, sports car, fly shit, two doors | |
| All I need is two slores and I’mma use they two jaws | |
| Catch me out in the Bronx where the choppers at | |
| Harlem Sunday, wear the proper hat | |
| Queens where they sell it and they use it and they choppin’ that | |
| And niggas getting murdered, that’s on top of that | |
| Yeah, I fuck her on her tip toes, West Coast | |
| Guns out in France, yeah that’s French Toast | |
| Been ghost, yeah, told them niggas been there and done that | |
| ‘Cause I think they can run that ‘cause all that bread come back | |
| New York left rack, quarterback, running back | |
| Tell them bring the quarter back, I just keep the number flat | |
| My posse still on Broadway, in East Wick, we do it by raw way | |
| We do this shit all day, get them niggas’ head in they hall way | |
| [Hook] |
| Verse One: Emilio Rojas | |
| Yeah, I be where the papis be, caking off of poppy seed | |
| 167th, baby, I got the whole block with me | |
| I' m where the poverty created an economy | |
| And everybody selling souls, now the Devil on a shopping spree | |
| All my people going in and out of jail | |
| I' m the lucky one, I ain' t never had no drugs to sell | |
| I just want the type of paper that you count it with a scale | |
| So if they get indicted, I could be there with the bail | |
| Everybody think they real but ain' t nobody realistic | |
| All my people doing numbers, trying not to be statistics | |
| Yeah, ' cause we don' t wanna see no prisons | |
| But we out there on the strip ' cause we don' t wanna lease no Civics, no | |
| Nah, they don' t wanna see Latins with investments | |
| Nah, but I been living like a legend though | |
| Yeah, you be the one with all the answers | |
| I' mma be the one they never get to question though | |
| Hook | |
| It could go down, ain' t nothing but trouble around here | |
| Ain' t nothing but trouble around here, it could go down | |
| Ain' t nothing but trouble around here | |
| Ain' t nothing but trouble around here | |
| It could go down, the city so cold I could see my breath | |
| The city so cold I could see my breath | |
| The city so cold I could see my breath | |
| The city so cold I could see my breath | |
| Verse Two: N. O. R. E | |
| Yo, the new Hector Lavoe, you should respect me | |
| Them killers all around me gonna protect me | |
| And the condo is two floors, sports car, fly shit, two doors | |
| All I need is two slores and I' mma use they two jaws | |
| Catch me out in the Bronx where the choppers at | |
| Harlem Sunday, wear the proper hat | |
| Queens where they sell it and they use it and they choppin' that | |
| And niggas getting murdered, that' s on top of that | |
| Yeah, I fuck her on her tip toes, West Coast | |
| Guns out in France, yeah that' s French Toast | |
| Been ghost, yeah, told them niggas been there and done that | |
| ' Cause I think they can run that ' cause all that bread come back | |
| New York left rack, quarterback, running back | |
| Tell them bring the quarter back, I just keep the number flat | |
| My posse still on Broadway, in East Wick, we do it by raw way | |
| We do this shit all day, get them niggas' head in they hall way | |
| Hook |
| Verse One: Emilio Rojas | |
| Yeah, I be where the papis be, caking off of poppy seed | |
| 167th, baby, I got the whole block with me | |
| I' m where the poverty created an economy | |
| And everybody selling souls, now the Devil on a shopping spree | |
| All my people going in and out of jail | |
| I' m the lucky one, I ain' t never had no drugs to sell | |
| I just want the type of paper that you count it with a scale | |
| So if they get indicted, I could be there with the bail | |
| Everybody think they real but ain' t nobody realistic | |
| All my people doing numbers, trying not to be statistics | |
| Yeah, ' cause we don' t wanna see no prisons | |
| But we out there on the strip ' cause we don' t wanna lease no Civics, no | |
| Nah, they don' t wanna see Latins with investments | |
| Nah, but I been living like a legend though | |
| Yeah, you be the one with all the answers | |
| I' mma be the one they never get to question though | |
| Hook | |
| It could go down, ain' t nothing but trouble around here | |
| Ain' t nothing but trouble around here, it could go down | |
| Ain' t nothing but trouble around here | |
| Ain' t nothing but trouble around here | |
| It could go down, the city so cold I could see my breath | |
| The city so cold I could see my breath | |
| The city so cold I could see my breath | |
| The city so cold I could see my breath | |
| Verse Two: N. O. R. E | |
| Yo, the new Hector Lavoe, you should respect me | |
| Them killers all around me gonna protect me | |
| And the condo is two floors, sports car, fly shit, two doors | |
| All I need is two slores and I' mma use they two jaws | |
| Catch me out in the Bronx where the choppers at | |
| Harlem Sunday, wear the proper hat | |
| Queens where they sell it and they use it and they choppin' that | |
| And niggas getting murdered, that' s on top of that | |
| Yeah, I fuck her on her tip toes, West Coast | |
| Guns out in France, yeah that' s French Toast | |
| Been ghost, yeah, told them niggas been there and done that | |
| ' Cause I think they can run that ' cause all that bread come back | |
| New York left rack, quarterback, running back | |
| Tell them bring the quarter back, I just keep the number flat | |
| My posse still on Broadway, in East Wick, we do it by raw way | |
| We do this shit all day, get them niggas' head in they hall way | |
| Hook |
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