R.E.D.

Sleiman Iver (uh) Ho thicker, diamonds on my neck flicker Drug dealer, professional pot whipper Seven figures, got your bitches fuckin' quicker She want a picture, I tell her no, I know she bitter Niggas cuttin' up on the internet Fuck nigga, we ain't into that We end up in your crib where your family at Got the .40 on my hip, yeah, that's my stick, yeah She wanna fuck for a grip, yeah, on my blick, yeah Couple bands on my shit, yeah, I'ma rip, yeah With the shits, yeah, that's my clique, yeah MAC-11, 9 milli', ridin' with it (ridin' with it) I'ma hit him up, I'ma fuckin' kill him (fuckin' kill him) Run up on him, masked with a black .40 (black .40) Hit 'em in his hoodie, no A Boogie Pu-pu-pull up in the black Benz Clip for the .9's and the MAC-10's Beefy on the molly, niggas want my money But when they see me coming, I can see them niggas runnin' I see them niggas runnin' Let them niggas act, 'cause they bitches they be lovin', yeah Blood time, blood rhyme, nigga, this is blood line Niggas gettin' stupid, try to get by Pu-pu-pull up in the black Benz Clip for the .9's and the MAC-10's MAC-11, 9 milli', ridin' with it (ridin' with it) I'ma hit him up, I'ma fuckin' kill him (fuckin' kill him) Run up on him, masked with a black .40 (black .40) Hit 'em in his hoodie, no A Boogie Sleiman Let that shit breathe