क्रेडिट्स
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Eric David Terrell
Songwriter
Anthony Arthur Woodall Jr
Songwriter
गाने
Alright
Let me see
Hold on, let me, let me just, let me send one text
Let me just, and then you'll know, you'll know, let me see
(313 Mafia)
You said you want some, okay, let me see
Yeah, that shit around, but I can't take less than three
My bitch kicked me out, but I kept the key
My **** locked up, I can't wait 'til they set him free
**** thought shit was sweet, took his heat, told him let me see
Bought an eighth for seventy-five, somehow he thought he got seven G's
I damn near cough every time I inhale my weed
Lot of my prescriptions came from this old lady that was seventy
****, this the A-team
My fiend just left rehab and he ain't gon' stay clean
**** said I was broke, he must've had a daydream
Flash on my Glock, it'll make a **** say cheese
The Glock probably got a couple bodies on it, but the Drac' clean
The dope probably stomped on, but the drank clean
Tryna contemplate to buy a Rollie or an AP
Smokin' East Pop from Dave East, got it from HT
It's more red in my cup than Lil Yachty hair
I can't come where you at, I caught a body there
Push a **** shit back like a rocking chair
When I see that **** body drop, I'm outta there
The way the last **** got did, it— alright
The way the last **** got did, it probably wasn't even fair
If the last bitch I was with died, I probably wouldn't care
My **** caught a body, kept his 'fit, but he shaved his hair
My **** said he ain't got enough, so we finna take it
I got a white bitch, but her ass Jamaican
You got a lil' money but do a lot of hatin'
My fiend said he want some— and so I gotta make it
Both phones ringin', one the plug, one a sale, which one you think I'm takin'?
Two sales on deck, one a hundred, one a thousand, which one you think I'm makin'?
Got a micro and a pocket bully, which one you think I made?
Two Chargers, one a Scat, one a 'Cat, which one you think we racin'?
My bitch hair natural, she don't wear bundles
I got my Glock on me, I ain't finna rumble
I can get a pint for three, I'm finna call my uncle
**** turned into a beast and walked out the jungle
Anything I put my hands on, I'ma at least make double
I just got all the weight off, somehow I gained muscle
Pulled a hundred racks out the stash, got they face puzzled
How you best friends with the plug and you ain't bumble?
Damn, I need to go to bed
I been up all night tryna find a four of red
My plug phone goin' straight to voicemail, I know it's dead
My fiend just tried to run off, so I broke his legs
This bitch said she on her period, well I'm glad I just want some head
This **** ain't thinkin' with his mind, he must don't want his head
All these **** do is cap like what's on they head
This bitch-ass **** pulled up, tried to tax me, told him, "Go ahead"
Told my bitch, "Chop, chop"
Make sure you watch the stove, don't break the pot
All you gotta do is mix it up, it don't take a lot
Like the game finna end, I'm tryna make a shot
Written by: Anthony Arthur Woodall Jr, Eric David Terrell