Ghosty, ghosty, ghosty, ghosty Grt... Told my shoota don't hit no legs Blicky, the blicky, the blicky, the blicky, the blicky See I know I (Fuck) keep one up in the head (Twirl) Do a hit then we fled Skrt, skrt, skrt, skrt Blicky, the blicky, the blicky, the blicky Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Move bitch, I'm disturbing the peace, got me feeling like Luda (Skoot, skoot) New drip, (Drip, drip) I'm rocking Amiris, this shit ain't no Buddha Get hit in the stomach, (Pussy) all of his guts and intestines he threw up (Hahaha) Got rid of the gun, (Got rid of that shit) I had to re-up on a new one Henny, no Georgies, spin through the flossy I'm at the Barclays, and I got floor-seats Treesha's bye-bye, trynna give orgies Back out, I ain't trynna end up on Maury (Brt) Too dripped out (Too dripped out), black wrange when the gang (Gang, gang, gang) flip out Clips stick out, reload once the shit slip out Spin 'till we nauseous, bending it often Cup over coasters, we made 'em forfeit Pull up no warnings, hop out and scorch 'em Better be cautious, baited 'em up Walked 'em straight to a coffin (Walked 'em straight to a coffin) They ain't taking no shots (Pussy) They (Bap, bap, bap, bap, bap) ain't scoring 22 the nigga they rap 'bout (Suck my dick) They ain't the same when the strap out (Gang, gang, gang) If you ain't know you should check on my background If he ain't dead then spin back 'round Met a little treesha and she trynna get slapped out Ended up blowing her back out Fuck on the balcony, I made her tap out (Matta, matta) (Brt, brt) (Gang, gang, gang) When we spin, duck Keep that blick tucked If he trip up, (What?) he won't get up Rest in piss to that boy who got hit with a hollow now he in gelato (Now he in gelato) (Gang, gang) It's still free the twirlers, I'm screamin' free Kodak, I'm screamin' free Ralo (Twirl, twirl) Feel like Tony Montano I shoot you get left, Euro steppin' like Manu With a Treesha in Milano, she drivin' the boat She downin' Moscato Clappin' like standing ovation (Pussy) Brodie gon' chase him, I don't do chasin' Count hella guap, got paper (Racks, racks) Shit it get dangerous, we don't feel danger (Bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap) Shooters gon' flock out the wrangler (Grt) (Suck my dick) (Gang, gang, gang)Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
