20 Years Later Lyrics – Juicy J, Logic

Read the full 20 Years Later lyrics by Juicy J and Logic along with the music video, song credits, release information and other details about the song. If you enjoy Juicy J’s music, you can also explore Discussion 6 and Discussion 5, two other songs by Juicy J.

[Intro: Juicy J]
Yeah, mane
Juice Mane, Project Pat, Logic on the beat
Y’all know what it is, dog
Yeah, yeah, yeah, North (We in this b!tch)
North, North (Let’s get it)

[Chorus: Juicy J]
Still thumbing through rolls, still do sold-out shows (Yes, sir)
Got dope smoke in my clothes, I still don’t love no hoes (You know it)
Still stick to the code, still get exotic bowls (Always)
Designer got me drippy like a runny nose (Hey)

Higher than a kizzle, still got dirty sprizzle (Dirty sprizzle)
Pockets thick like Lizzo, spend more than a little (Mm-hmm)
Big boy, 41, this b!tch a presidential (Yes, sir)
I gotta be a GOAT, go look at my credentials (Let’s get it, yeah)

[Verse 1: Juicy J]
Twenty years later, how much money you got in the bank? (Uh)
Card don’t got no limit, I might fu*k around, buy me a tank (Uh-oh)
Dope smoke in my nose, uh, blow that s*it out ’cause it stank
Not worried ’bout no hoes, I brought a foreign b!tch back to the States (Vroom)
Twenty years later, cashed out, I bought an estate (Hey)
Crib so big, you gotta call when you at the gate (Yes, sir)
N!gga, I’m the GOAT, no back and forth, it ain’t no debate (Uh-huh)
I’m making sure the next twenty-some years, we gon’ be straight (Talking)
Secure that bag, Uncle Elroy, puff, puff, pass
Would you like to try some shutter? Getting rich off Juicy glass
See, you get in your bag, I get in my safe
Ain’t no way in hell I won’t get bored if I can create (Uh-huh, uh-huh)
You broke as hell, you and your boys, so y’all can’t relate (Mm-mmm)
Just by the smell, I know you can smell that that s*it’s some dank (Yep)
Yeah, twenty years later, I’m a Academy award winner
Forbes lister, n!gga, think of Juice when you think of J

[Chorus: Juicy J & Project Pat]
Still thumbing through rolls, still do sold-out shows, yeah

Got dope smoke in my clothes, I still don’t love no hoes (North, North)
Still stick to the code, still get exotic bowls (B!tch)
Designer got me drippy like a runny nose (Uh-huh)
Higher than a kizzle, still got dirty sprizzle (Dirty sprizzle)
Pockets thick like Lizzo, spend more than a little (Yes, sir)
Big boy, 41, this b!tch a presidential (Mm)
I gotta be a GOAT, go look at my credentials (Patta)

[Verse 2: Project Pat]
International OG status, from Paris, France to Dallas
So many hundred passing through my hand, mane, that’s why they call us
Some of y’all getting jealous, get money, mane, with the fellas
Memphis dude swag different, out of town girls call us
Never green, not relish, pockets, they on swellish
If it ain’t ’bout a dollar, we hollar, mane, do you smell us?
And the hood may love us, blessings from God above us
Life sentence in a box, mane, you don’t want them troubles
Let your next move be your best move, not a stress move
Black Forgis on a white foreign, that’s a flex move
Find that stick on that Ring cam’, watch it, nephew
They’ll identify your face and a place, they gon’ arrest you (Ew)

[Chorus: Juicy J & Logic]
Still thumbing through rolls, still do sold-out shows
Got dope smoke in my clothes, I still don’t love no hoes
Still stick to the code, still get exotic bowls
Designer got me drippy like a runny nose
Higher than a kizzle, still got dirty sprizzle
Pockets thick like Lizzo, spend more than a little
Big boy, 41, this b!tch a presidential
I gotta be a GOAT, go look at my credentials, yeah

[Verse 3: Logic]
Let me get a little bit of that
Made it to the hood, but I’ll never get rid of that
Money on my mind like a fitted cap
Wonder if I’ll ever get rid of that chip on my shoulder, I think it’s diminished
I’ll ride ’til I’m finished, I’m riding on spinners, not really, but twenty years ago, I been
Thirteen, bumping “Still Tipping”
Him walking, I’m still limping
B!tch made motherfu*kers, y’all still simping
Twenty years ago, all my fears, they go
It’s really not what’s up
Back in the day, bumping that Triple 6
Daddy on the rock, tryna get the fix
All I had was a dream, word to Stevie Nicks
Give a fu*k what they talking about really
No way, they know need for them to pay attention
Really, they not even worth a mention
In another dimension, I’m rapping no capping
Like I’m white, like I’m Charlie Chaplin, I’m snapping
Little Bobby running ’round, bullets in the air the sound
Never knowing who’s around, never had no one around
Bumping that Mafia under the ground, just me and my dogs in the pound
Back in the day, I’d listen to J, but didn’t know what was the outcome
Twenty years later, jump in the Mercedes and now I’m producing the album
Hold up, I remember being broke in the projects
Cooking crack ’til they broke up the Pyrex