"Future" lyrics - WALE

I am the streets, the future
I introduce you to Ace Hood, Meek Mills
Big Sean, Wale, Vado, this the future
They gettin' money, they makin' hit records, they hustlin'

Okay now Khaled told me kill 'em, he just told me kill 'em
Hundred for the Beamer, Kudos for the dealer
Murder, bet I wrote it, Kudos to the killer
Chevy sittin' crooked, teeth on Reggie Miller
I'm a motherfuckin' beast, see me in your sleep
Nightmare on any street, swear I will mark any beat
Spread this to the industry, lyrics like a chopper piece
Flow right through your fitted T, pull this through with chemistry
Hottest nigga 'round, they saying greatness is my tendency
No such thing as sympathy, more money, my remedy
Pockets on, heavy D, bitch I'm hot, third degree
Whip I drive? Owned by me, wrists and neck, anti-freeze
Can it be? I'm who you dying to be'
Last of a dying breed, I'm Siamese
Twin pistol shooter nigga like a 7B
Big dog, get it, you still on your pedigree
Yeah, fly nigga with some stupid swag
Dead faces keep my money in the body bag
And the G-U-T-T-A, hops in the whip and I gotta get paid
Fuck them bitches, ain't trying to get laid
Walk in my house you can meet my maid
And you give a damn you can push that Lac
Push that Benz on, push that 'Lade, hop to the whip
No top on mine, hear a nigga hate, man fuck them guys
Real nigga shit, don't tell no lie
Private plane, my seat recline, top 10 charts, where I reside
Got me a house?

We the muthafuckin best, word to my mama
Ridin' presidential, got me feeling like Obama
'Cause all I want is change
And my niggas they wanted the same
I wanted the money and never the fame
I turned into something they never became
Through all the rain, I kept my flame
And I kept burning and it's my turn and
Real nigga my hood confirm it
Now it's 6 2's on closed curtains
And that Maybach, let me take 'em way back
When I was starving that was payback
Nigga where that cake at?
Murder all your artists
And I, I, I, I can feel that love,
But I feel that hate
When I got that? I just feel so safe
I put it to your mug, you ain't gon' wake
When that thing gon' fly
Got a little kick, but it ain't no tired
Niggas talk murder, but they ain't gon ride
Now we goin' hard like I ain't gonna die
Meek Mill!

Do it! OK
Smoke until I got no lungs
Got her going down, no teeth
I call it "speaking tongues"
Do it! Do it!
Now you speaking my language
From where they twist and talk with they fingers
Man but this ain't no sign language
Fresh out of the ashes
This a Detroit fucking classic from when MM got the masses
Trick Trick got them passes
Bitch I'm from the Motor, Motor
Yeah that motor be the fastest bitch,
They call it Motor City
'Cause you're most likely to crash (fuck it)
Good thing I got a chauffeur
Going broke? No sir!
Bitch I'm the rap game stylist,
'Cause I gave the rap game style bitch
But I over shine, ain't no niggas over Sean
Toll rollin' by the quarter so I guess we're going overtime.
Till we're Dumb high, dumb high
Westside, bitch I run mine
I'm rolling around in my old school, I feel like the alumni
Fucking hoes, no strings attached
So don't ask me why they strung out
I'm like Jordan to you niggas
I might even stick my tongue out
She wiggled and wobble, bobbled
Then landed on my throttle
Bitch, I might make you my baby
And even buy you a bottle
Yo niggas don't ask how the top feel?
When you keep em' right beside you
My pockets got paper on paper
This shit just look like a novel boy
100 thousand worth of ice on me now
But it don't feel half as good
As grandma saying she's proud

Forever dedicated, Maybach poetic genius
Some think they close to seeing me
Tell 'em they close to Stevie
You poser niggas ain't supposed to be here
We don't believe ya.
Double MG'er, we put a wreath on niggas' careers
We the best, Khaled
No need to stress, Khaled
Know there's a lot of artists
But I got the best palette
Multiple colors, my mind's more productive than others
Murray the winner, he think he really
Nelson Mandela
That's fire though.
One time for the 305, though
That hydro make me tired, yo
My kickin be so Tai Bo!
My balance be so tight rope
That's hard to find Quick Tri-Flow
Get rough With me, that Night flow
Hoes blow for me, I maestro, shit
That white whip sit
Like a slight wrist slit
Suicide shit, you can by shit if you write this shit
Nigga and right this minute, they say I'm buzzing hard
My driver's out of this world, you playing bumper cars.
You niggas under-cards
You should be unemployed
All you smoke is Reggie, I'm in the telly bunch of noise
Who gon' tell me that I ain't going or I ain't flowin'
Young Folarin, you see them puters
That was my influence

The towers fell, turning to Ground Zero
Kids didn't like Reggie Jackson
Nicki Barnes their hero
As I play Rothstein, Corleone like Rob De Niro
Been through it but here though
Don't move with the weirdos
Dress pimpin' the toast like let's win
Penthouses on West and 4th, pipes and Mac 6
While me in a Maserati bricking his best friends
When I die, tell them to turn my coffin to stretch Benz rims on it
Problems? My man's on, see him, we stomp him out
His mouth, our Timbs' on it
Always smoking a ounce, a mountain, no tens on it
Spins on it, you have no clout, the Benz on it
What the fiends say?
Few roaches, you need spray, on tours, eat straight
Making sure all your feet sprayed
Get the pills through, peel through SRT-8 truck on, seats gray
Drop tops like release dates, Vado