Them niggas that kept yelling that I got money
Blowin' real bubblegum weed, eight ooh
Blowin' real bubblegum, eight hundred for an ounce of this
I be somewhere runnin' up a check, keep me out the mix
Guarantee they said they know Rio if they be out in Flint
I just got a hundred K in cash for a sponsorship
Still thanking God for my accomplishments
Nigga said I told and he ain't get no acknowledgement
I been down to a four a day, bae, I'm tryna quit
I know it's bad when Lou say all he found was some lines of Trish
501 Levi's on, but they Chrome Heart
You wanna see me make a dime? Alright, I'm waitin' on my phone to charge
Havin' real dog shit, I can turn into a loan shark
Knocked the nigga out in front his bitch, pulled his ho card
My people got two hundred fifty stamps, I bought the whole tar
Told my security pull a baby Drac' out when the show start
.308'll turn a nigga Hellcat into a go-kart
You would think I used to paint how I know art
Guaranteed I'm hitting three niggas when the four spark
Ten chains on now, it's on the floor part
Hit him with the K, he blacked out, say it was so dark
They put me on the box, I made a hundred racks on Barb
I'm a motherfucking genius
I was getting cases of the Hi-Tech out in Phoenix
And the crazy part, I never been to Arizona
Make sure you hit him in the head case he a organ donor
Hit him with the four-five, now his torso open
Went to the Bay and married Mary Jane, I left my bitch, we divorced in Oakland
If the weed six hundred a zip, of course we smoking
Thirty pointers in the AP look gorgeous, don't it?
You don't gotta buy the beans, I know my people in Florida want 'em
Nigga, you don't gotta buy a thing
We be shootin' cars up, boom-bada-bing
Police ask me what I saw, I'm like, "Not a thing"
Leave a nigga scarred up when the copper sing
Just hit him in his head, man, the nigga 'bout to bleed
Alright, I'm 'bout to leave
Just 'cause you got a lil' bread on you don't mean you got no cheese
How can you suck dick for two hours, do you got some knees?
Mike, get the fuck out the way, bro, I'm 'bout to squeeze
We ridin' 'round with a dirty Glock, but the chopper clean
Dope got the whole house stinking, boil a pot of Febreeze
Count the money, get on stage, and rap, now I'm 'bout to leave
You wanna rap with me? Give me 6 racks
Think you finna scrap with me? I got a big strap
And Mike got one on him too, nigga, get back
Oh, I forgot, young dog and them got six straps
I got a switch on my Glock, I call it Pooh Shiesty (Blrrrd)
Gucci down with six chains, bitch, I'm too icy
I came down the block, he threw the deuces and I flew by him
Nigga, I just cut my dope with some shoe shiner
If I catch another case, I'm gettin' cooked, I'm a two-timer
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
