Music Video

Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
NLE Choppa
NLE Choppa
Vocals
Chosen1
Chosen1
Programming
Doc Playboi
Doc Playboi
Programming
G Herbo
G Herbo
Vocals
TP808
TP808
Programming
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Bryson Potts
Bryson Potts
Songwriter
Elijah Gull
Elijah Gull
Songwriter
Gorelov Lev Aleksandrovich
Gorelov Lev Aleksandrovich
Songwriter
Tiquon Pryor
Tiquon Pryor
Songwriter
Herbert R Wright
Herbert R Wright
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Chosen1
Chosen1
Producer
TP808
TP808
Producer
Doc Playboi
Doc Playboi
Producer

Lyrics

Nigga fuck Fuck nigga, fuck nigga, fuck nigga (Run that back, Playboi) Raise the murder rate (raise it up) Anytime a nigga play, we raise the murder rate (blaze up) Broad day, let thirty shots off and we skrrt away Park the car, don't drop off, I be frontline when it pop off When it's crunch time, make him hot sauce Homicide, gon' take his block off Let the Glock off, knock yo' top off Ayy, watch him fly away (fly away) Tryna stay up out them streets, I had to fly away Mama pray, I'm too deep in the streets to stop, I can't (I can't) Really rich, I woke up, thought to buy that watch, I ain't (fuck) I bank at five banks (five banks) In my hood, I'm hall of fame I'm on that nine rate Changed the game, I showed my niggas how to play, I got away (I got away) Still ain't put that fire away, you wanna die? Just try today My mind right, I'm flying straight, I prolly walk away Plus, I know you niggas hoes, just act tough and talk away Eighteen got sacked up and strapped up, just off a play And I ain't hiding, I'm in LA, I'm in a Lamb', I'm in valet Ayy, switch out the tags and the VIN, 'cause I wanna spin again Couple shots in the FN, the rest of 'em in his friend Ain't enough money in this world that'll make me cross a friend Ain't enough loyalty in the world for you to comprehend Freaky bitch, I beat her back until it bend and it break Gave me head up in the 'Cat, I put the police on the chase (police on the chase) Came in her mouth, got away, and still ain't ever hit the breaks Asked her, was she fine? She said her hair fucked up but she okay I'm as cutthroat as it get, and I'm 'bout as grimy as a hoe (grimy as a hoe) Glizzy gotta match my fit or I ain't steppin' out the door Thirty shots, it wasn't enough, so I got fifty at the most Scratch the serial up out this bitch, now both of y'all are ghost (brr, brr, brr) Get my jewelry from Flawless Diamonds, but my bitch go to Watkins (go to Watkins) Might get a Urus on perfect timing, just to say I bought it Niggas weird, they sneak dissin' on me, and damn right, I caught it (damn right, I caught it) A couple weeks later, we had his momma picking coffins This that shit that have you going a hunnid on the E-way Stop the car and let me out, I left him layin' on the freeway Got niggas shooting behind and after me, like its a relay Blow his candles out his candlelight, call it a murder B-day (br-brr-brr-brr) Fuck the scoreboard nigga, you could check the stat sheet Run shit down like Sha'Carri in the track meet Put him in the backseat, then kill him on the backstreet Two shooters the tag team, his noodles on concrete (concrete) Nigga, business is what we standing on Bullets hit his back, tell him to show it off like it's VLONE Few things I don't play about, money and respect, and my drones You see me, might play around, but I got bodies on my dome Shot a nigga at fifteen, I never looked back since Slam dunk a opp, my arm in the rim like I'm Vince Purple bandana, purple outfit, purple rain like I'm Prince (crip, crip, crip, crip, crip, crip) I'm a money makin' nigga but I can't go out like Mitch (brrt, brrt, brrt) I bet them bullets change his subject Why you stop sucking my dick, bitch, you seen I ain't nut yet (the fuck) Niggas can talk all they want, I still ain't been touched yet Brodie tell me chill, he know I kill, but nigga, fuck that (nigga fuck that) 'Cause if I don't get him, they got me (brrt) If I don't feel them they body (brrt) Put 33 in 'em, Scottie, no Pippen (brrt) Them bullets hit him, inject him, he feel 'em like penicillin We put niggas pass the ceiling, in the sky giving God a visit Murder, murder, killing, killing Dirty .30 filled with sinnin' For certain, I'm murkin' a person thinking that I ain't with it (I ain't with it) Close the curtain, hospital visions We flatlinin' them bitches, double back Nine of them niggas hit up his spine, now he Crippin' (brrr) Spine now he Crippin', nigga Crip, nigga NLE the Top Shotta (Shotta), got the bombs like Al-Qaeda (Al-Qaeda) Like what man? I'll drop 'em (br-brr) Man, I'll slaughter, nigga These niggas know what we standin' on
Writer(s): Bryson Potts, Elijah Gull, Inconnu Compositeur Auteur, Tiquan Pryor Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out