It's mayday, its mayday
And I'm about to crash
Look up in the sky, it's a bird or is it a plane
Nah, it's just me and I'm coming back from the grave
Nah it's just me and I'm coming back for my plate
From the African continent I be Kamikaze
Crash my plane through your wall and prove I'm from the Kasi
Niggas strip off, tryna drink that Smirnoff
It's a hot stove, niggas cooking iceballs
Sell it to the highest bidder I be auctioning
Rats still rat now the cops the be question
Selling Intels, another form of hustling
Homies popping pills bruh, welcome to the agony
Tryna work in mud and shit (Tryna work in mud and shit)
Making that paper in f*cking dirt
I be grinding since I was seventeen
Trouble is the way bruh
Making my way to f*cking pray
Bible pages turn gray
Money clippers in my hay
I be shouting Mayday
Every single day is a souffleur
Prayers, layers after layers
She was on the radar
Target practice missed her
Shoot her with a missile
Now she moving sea-side
Yeah she's a hoe, money she got flaws
Always on the go, and I chase her with my Glock
And I'm back, in my home, everytime my cellphone roams
My homie, 25, in the day, yeah he lost his life
I was on hustle mode, crashing through the parking lot
Ain't nobody talking shit, tryna bring a wave of loo
I bring gifts like Santa Claus
Twelve years and I'm still a flop
Do it back and, I see you from afar, I shoot
Pull me back in it, aiming so high I'm just reckoning
Reckoning, fighting battles my wife she's cooking it
Eating my own words, add to my soup and I meant it, shit
Tryna work in mud and shit (Tryna work in mud and shit)
Making that paper in f*cking dirt
I be grinding since I was seventeen
Trouble is the way bruh
Making my way to f*cking pray
Bible pages turn gray
Money clippers in my hay
I be shouting Mayday
Every single day is a souffleur
P.A. On the Track & Don HardRisk - Mayday Mayday Lyrics
P.A. On the Track & Don HardRisk - Mayday Mayday Lyrics
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It's mayday, its mayday
And I'm about to crash
Look up in the sky, it's a bird or is it a plane
Nah, it's just me and I'm coming back from the grave
Nah it's just me and I'm coming back for my plate
From the African continent I be Kamikaze
Crash my plane through your wall and prove I'm from the Kasi
Niggas strip off, tryna drink that Smirnoff
It's a hot stove, niggas cooking iceballs
Sell it to the highest bidder I be auctioning
Rats still rat now the cops the be question
Selling Intels, another form of hustling
Homies popping pills bruh, welcome to the agony
Tryna work in mud and shit (Tryna work in mud and shit)
Making that paper in f*cking dirt
I be grinding since I was seventeen
Trouble is the way bruh
Making my way to f*cking pray
Bible pages turn gray
Money clippers in my hay
I be shouting Mayday
Every single day is a souffleur
Prayers, layers after layers
She was on the radar
Target practice missed her
Shoot her with a missile
Now she moving sea-side
Yeah she's a hoe, money she got flaws
Always on the go, and I chase her with my Glock
And I'm back, in my home, everytime my cellphone roams
My homie, 25, in the day, yeah he lost his life
I was on hustle mode, crashing through the parking lot
Ain't nobody talking shit, tryna bring a wave of loo
I bring gifts like Santa Claus
Twelve years and I'm still a flop
Do it back and, I see you from afar, I shoot
Pull me back in it, aiming so high I'm just reckoning
Reckoning, fighting battles my wife she's cooking it
Eating my own words, add to my soup and I meant it, shit
Tryna work in mud and shit (Tryna work in mud and shit)
Making that paper in f*cking dirt
I be grinding since I was seventeen
Trouble is the way bruh
Making my way to f*cking pray
Bible pages turn gray
Money clippers in my hay
I be shouting Mayday
Every single day is a souffleur
And I'm about to crash
Look up in the sky, it's a bird or is it a plane
Nah, it's just me and I'm coming back from the grave
Nah it's just me and I'm coming back for my plate
From the African continent I be Kamikaze
Crash my plane through your wall and prove I'm from the Kasi
Niggas strip off, tryna drink that Smirnoff
It's a hot stove, niggas cooking iceballs
Sell it to the highest bidder I be auctioning
Rats still rat now the cops the be question
Selling Intels, another form of hustling
Homies popping pills bruh, welcome to the agony
Tryna work in mud and shit (Tryna work in mud and shit)
Making that paper in f*cking dirt
I be grinding since I was seventeen
Trouble is the way bruh
Making my way to f*cking pray
Bible pages turn gray
Money clippers in my hay
I be shouting Mayday
Every single day is a souffleur
Prayers, layers after layers
She was on the radar
Target practice missed her
Shoot her with a missile
Now she moving sea-side
Yeah she's a hoe, money she got flaws
Always on the go, and I chase her with my Glock
And I'm back, in my home, everytime my cellphone roams
My homie, 25, in the day, yeah he lost his life
I was on hustle mode, crashing through the parking lot
Ain't nobody talking shit, tryna bring a wave of loo
I bring gifts like Santa Claus
Twelve years and I'm still a flop
Do it back and, I see you from afar, I shoot
Pull me back in it, aiming so high I'm just reckoning
Reckoning, fighting battles my wife she's cooking it
Eating my own words, add to my soup and I meant it, shit
Tryna work in mud and shit (Tryna work in mud and shit)
Making that paper in f*cking dirt
I be grinding since I was seventeen
Trouble is the way bruh
Making my way to f*cking pray
Bible pages turn gray
Money clippers in my hay
I be shouting Mayday
Every single day is a souffleur
Writer: Don Phillip, Pedro Andreoni
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Performed By: P.A. On the Track & Don HardRisk
Language: English
Length: 3:13
Written by: Don Phillip, Pedro Andreoni