Tekst Utworu

People keep coming up to me saying Dawvro Dawvro Dawvro I'm like dude please please please Give me a second PLEASE I need like two minutes Two minutes of peace that's all I ask Just took a sucker punch And I'll be back for lunch Me and my homies down bad like we had a hunch And now my credit crunch And we ain't got no lunch And now we eating cornbread Like we ain't had bunch Okay Okay like I ain't tripping bout a Klondike I was tripping bout the homies who had it down right Always dreaming bout the big money that gets me alright Like MCM bags and big G pads But I ain't got no g pass Like I ain't get that And I won't fit that My stupid cheap ass will probably cut grass My stupid dumbass will probably Go and get my shoe rack Like homie don't do that Go and get my Stanley Kubrick poster back Playaaa Okay I got it Guess if you would've told me earlier I would've caught it But real Georgia junk never come with the profit Guess that's what you get when you sell a southern product Like Dawvro on his feet Big homie in the trees Go and tell the preacher man cause God made the beat Run on money with my cleats It's that Georgia summer heat It's that been there done that already got a seat Imma big player Big homie big baller Imma big player Big homie big baller Imma big player Big homie big baller Imma b b b b big baller Dog talk nigga Like what you doing Grew up with them niggas Been yelling while they booing I ain't seen em in some days They acting like we been zooming had to put my cash away They hate it when i'm consuming boy It's so bad we was fighting all night Shit real mad we gone make the sun cry Talking bout my dad Got my feelings all tight Boy you never real niggas who off white Put it on baby I put it on praying We bluffing Y'all hate when I say it Y'all hate when I'm thinking we fussing Hate where I live Fake to the ville We nothing Shit could get real You gimme a Steele Who love me Imma big player Big homie big baller Imma big player Big homie big baller Imma big player Big homie big baller Imma b-b b b big baller I see how they address me With my name they tryna test me Im that pretty flacko pressin' his ID 'Cause no one gets me Bitch Y'all ain't even bothered I ain't even wanna speak about it Talking to myself? I ain't even good about it Y'all ain't really care about it I ain't even even worried bout it Yall gon see me poppin than we'll see y'all really talk about it Y'all just see me like a movin' target- Partin' fences, movin' cities Man, them billies got me under wanted warrants "Who that wet-back?" Been knew he makin moves Slippin-sliding couldn't catch up if y'all really wanted to Imma sit back Even when we makin' moves Ain't nobody beat me up like the man I'm tryna prove hoe
Writer(s): David Butler, Jaime Olivares, Jordan Blake Steele Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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