Eastsiders

Yeah

(Boy, you did that one, boy)

Yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Four fingers tucked, one ****

Trey Trey, yeah, uh

We got all types of Glocks, Gen. 5's, Gen. 3's

I got all type of bitches, they gon' pray to God for me

I don't care 'bout what he did when he was here, he deceased

Just know long as I got money, ain't a **** out of reach

Amiri denim, pants full of racks, I'm barely goin' in 'em

I know **** bitches, talk like hoes, I'm barely speakin' to 'em

I rep FBG, but I be throwin' 4E in the field

It's a lot of fake love, but when you die, the feelin' real

Fuck the opps and who be with 'em

Know it's that way 'til we kill 'em

Been a suspect and a victim

Hundred shots, we ain't gon' miss 'em

Brand new mice, I'm still gon' chase 'em

Don't come back if you ain't face 'em

You ain't feelin' how I'm feelin', off this.30, I be bracin'

Told my ****, "We gon' make it"

All my life, I heard I'm basic

Only good at shootin' ****

Half my victims barely made it

You can ask the streets about me

Ain't a soul can say I faked it

Just know you gon' have to pay for your shit back if bronem take it

My lil' bitch a different type

We locked in, this shit for life

If it's that, then it's on sight

Can't get left if you do right

I done seen the toughest **** turn bitch behind that pipe

My lil' bro twenty-three and he be scorin' shit like Mike

We got all types of Glocks, Gen. 5's, Gen. 3's

I got all type of bitches, they gon' pray to God for me

I don't care 'bout what he did when he was here, he deceased

Just know long as I got money, ain't a **** out of reach

Amiri denim, pants full of racks, I'm barely goin' in 'em

I know **** bitches, talk like hoes, I'm barely speakin' to 'em

I rep FBG, but I be throwin' 4E in the field

It's a lot of fake love, but when you die, the feelin' real

I been shootin' guns since 2012, like 2013

G Herbo, I'm really famous, but I still make a scene

Got my hoodie drawed up, and I'm still rockin' bling

Huh, for real

Uh, uh, you ain't never made a kill, you don't know how that feel

I ain't even have to drill, I was behind the wheel

Chains rose gold, I still got blue steel

I'll shoot at will, I don't care how you feel

Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh

And you breathin' panic, and I'll leave a **** stiff like a mannequin

Everybody want me to handle it

Ayy, chill out, I'ma handle it

Everybody know I'm gettin' that cake, I'ma pay for all the damages

We got all types of Glocks, Gen. 5's, Gen. 3's

I got all type of bitches, they gon' pray to God for me

I don't care 'bout what he did when he was here, he deceased

Just know long as I got money, ain't a **** out of reach

Amiri denim, pants full of racks, I'm barely goin' in 'em

I know **** bitches, talk like hoes, I'm barely speakin' to 'em

I rep FBG, but I be throwin' 4E in the field

It's a lot of fake love, but when you die, the feelin' real