Print

Ayo, in pocket sales for the mail, Chanels redrum (Ah) Thirty hangin' out the well done, we live in Hell, son Residue in my fingernail, weigh to split with a hand scale Three hundred grams'll leave your man still (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom) Don't mind me speakin' coke, I talk it fluent Word to ChineGun, I dropped the brick, it came back congruent (Ah) Why you stuntin'? (Why you stuntin'?) Why your [?] fifty a piece? Lord, you buggin' (Lord, you buggin') Slam the stove like "Hacksaw" Jim Duggan (Like "Hacksaw" Jim Duggan, ah) Yo, the kick on the MAC like Aleister Black (Brr, brr, ah) Black got caught, he ain't never came back (He ain't never came back) Remain solid, greet my brothers with K-[?] ([?]) On the cot, gained the knowledge (Ah) Shootouts with your stylist (Brr, brr, ah), these kicks three thousand dollars Ayo, my clip, plus his clip, plus his clip (Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, brr, brr) My shot will shoot your block down, nigga, for the fuck of it (Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, for the fuck of it, ah) Put money on your head, you'll be dead by dinner time (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, you'll be dead by dinner time, brr) The MAC-13, squeeze it like lemon lime (Squeeze it like lemon lime, brr) Niggas will put a price on your life and won't think twice Sicilians that will slice, slice dope still like prosciutto Rocked to sleep by a Geisha doll straight from Tokyo I'm the ghetto Diana Ross, he's the hood Billy Dee Sexiest poet on the planet, epiphany of destiny Tony Morrison with a pistol, oxycontin, methamphetamine crystals All these niggas startin' to sound unofficial Letras de cancionesBalmain cufflinks, Dapper Dan threadings Saint Lucia ocean front weddings, from a city of monsters Demons, schemin', kidnappin', and beheadings Where your own blood will take the witness stand And this forty'll take him right back to the promised land Chasin' Ferraris, spiralin' out of control Grimy bitch from the gutter, and I mean that from my soul Ayo, it's Westside Pootie, and we still gettin' money Six cars in the driveway and six bedrooms in the house I'm seven years old, eatin' one hundred dollar plates Y'all don't know what that taste like Gucci shoes, Gucci socks, Gucci pants, Gucci top But the hat Louis, we tasteless, yeah, yeah, we tasteless Three years ago, I told y'all to stop copyin' off my daddy And y'all still broke, this is Griselda Griselda From Letras Mania