Songtexte

Ridin' in the 3rd with the all black tint (what?) Smoke one, ho, get high with a pimp Kick the front door, bitch, better bust down Sippin' on dip while we break down the loud (what?) Just know one thing, I don't fuck with nobody (nah) Case full of shells, with a 12-gauge shotty Trap House $crim, bitch, I could give a fuck Ridin' 'round town with the nine on tuck Never hesitate if I gotta go and bust (what?) Dare a motherfucker to try and act tough (what?) Hunnid motherfuckers that's all ready to rush Hunnid motherfuckers that's dyin' to light 'em up Live from the land where you six-feet deep Before you even die, just standing on your feet Gold teeth with a grin that'll make a bitch wet 504, keep the choppa on flex Bitch, I'm from New Orleans, ayy 7th Ward Lord cuttin' guts with a sword Yung Mutt 'cause I'm half-fucking-foreign, ayy Gimme the blunt, bitch, you wastin' all the weed Pass it around, use my lungs as the storage, ayy Pitbull in the yard, stay away from my gate That's a motherfucking warning, ayy 20-inch spokes like a platinum switchblade, ayy Ice on my wrist, help the swelling go down from the slit You can find me in the motherfucking tank, ayy Five-hunnid degrees, four dollar signs Dial up my line, I'm on the East Bank, ayy $uicide, left the blood on my shank 5-9 Yin Yang, ayy Hunnid thou', hunnid thou', $uicide, $uicide Who you think you fuckin' with? You done lost yo' mind (lost yo' mind) Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom! (Do-do-do-do-do) That's all you hear when I step in the room (hahaha!) Boy, I jugg, jugg, jugg, you can check my right wrist Every day in the kitchen, watch me flip (whip, whip!) I can cook, I can cook, Betty Crocker (I'm a baker) Got them cakes and I serve pills like a doctor (I got prescriptions) I'm on the corner (on the corner), fuck the corner (man, fuck that shit) I'm in the house, servin' weed like a farmer (I'm a farmer Jon) I got crops, I got crops, long-ass crops (long-ass crops) And I got hoes, I got them bops, I got them bitches Hunnid thou', hunnid, hunnid, hunnid thousand Don't try us, we just start wyling $uicideboy$ with the Kirb What you talkin'? Absurd Tryna try us, what we gon' do? Put yo' brains on the curb No play, all day in FLA, okay, bitch You can try that shit, I'll put yo' face on a t-shirt today, damn
Writer(s): Aristos Petrou, Scott Arcenaux Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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