| Stupid motherfucker ain’t find a brick in the fridge
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| Only got 10K, fuck that, we goin' back, Lord
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| (Man, fuck that, man, we goin' back, I told you the fuckin' brick was in the
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| fridge, yo)
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| 10K, fuck that, we goin' back, Lord (What's up, baby? Stroller)
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| Pineapple Urus, cocaine purest (Ah)
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| Trench on, shit only came out in Europe (Ah)
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| My shooter on syrup (Grr)
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| Kicks I got on, you never heard of (Uh-uh)
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| My Puerto Rican bitch from La Perla
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| Rub the coke on my gums, that shit was magnifique (Ah)
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| Hugged the plug, told him same time next week
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| Jewelry fresh, the bitches all on my neck (Ah)
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| In the Guggenheim, I had the fold-up TEC (Grr)
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| Fendi headband, I didn’t break a sweat (Uh-uh)
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| Same nigga had Vicky eatin' out LaVette (Woo)
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| There’s Genovese all over (Ah)
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| Wallabees cobra, graveyard shift Motorolas (Brr)
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| Brick after brick after brick, Lord, game over (Ah)
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| Ike just came home for a second time (Second time)
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| Could’ve fucked your bitch, I told her never mind (Told her never mind)
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| My team vicious, walk, talk, eat different (Ah)
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| Got a whole brick, I had to remix it (Remix)
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| Shit look like Jermaine Dupri whipped it (Whip)
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| Talk Caesar, seasick, them bullets keep hittin' (Grr)
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| Toss the F&N like a flea-flicker (Boom, boom, boom, boom)
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| Preach, nigga, they gettin' money while we richer
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| Key flippers, Amiri jeans, Louis V slippers
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| Out of town OG shippers to the weed pitchers
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| You don’t ever squeeze your blicker and that’s where we differ (We ain’t the
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| same, niggas)
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| I don’t hesitate to bust my chrome
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| Bar for bar, can’t no nigga touch my zone
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| Niggas know what the fuck I’m on
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| Playin' spades in the county and niggas know not to touch my phone,
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| yeah (Don't touch my phone)
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| My plug a giant in New York, he got them things in (Ah)
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| Send me thirteen to Cleveland, like the G-men (Hahaha)
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| Griselda the championship team, we got the rings in (Yeah)
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| Mad as fuck, my shooter got deported back to Kingston (It's fucked up)
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| Your pockets not deep enough, do not beef with us
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| How can we be touched? |
| You niggas don’t got reach enough
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| You not street enough, I will come through your block and I street sweep it up
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| (Brr)
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| Griselda, you niggas cannot eat with us, yeah
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| That’s something that I cannot preach enough (Yeah)
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| 40 on me, homie, I keep it tucked (Hah)
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| I’ma keep it a buck (Yeah)
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| If you a fuck nigga, do not speak to us
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| We got Flee with us
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| Thirty shot Glocks’ll heat shit up (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom,
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| boom)
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| Machine
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| Mind your business, nigga, tuck your paper (Tuck that)
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| When it’s on, my shooter teflon a couple layers
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| Every day I put on gold like a fuckin' Laker (Fuckin' Laker)
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| Out west pushin' them foreign shits up LaBrea (Skrrt)
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| You know the outcome when your pedigree is Martin, Malcolm
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| Don’t 'preciate you, and when you dead, they study all your albums
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| I was young and sonnin' them niggas that you call a thousand (Them niggas?)
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| I was hustlin', frontin' them old niggas all them ounces (Where my money at?)
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| Quarter brick under my mattress and my father found it (True story)
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| Wanted me out, and all I did is make him call it down here (Come get this)
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| I just put my dick in her mouth, you bought that ho Louboutins (Fuck you doin'?)
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| I caught a bomb in the A, but don’t play for the Falcons (Nah)
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| Ain’t no linkin' back with niggas I had a fallin' out with (Fuck 'em)
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| They only start that shit with you so they can talk about it (Talk about it)
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| It’s cool, and we can take it far as y’all allow it (What's poppin'?)
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| I spin through, your Gucci hoodie gon' have chalk around it (Brr)
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| Yeah, nah, I can’t forget them traps that I had hostage (Had hostage)
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| Walkin' 'round with your re-up in my back pocket (Hahahaha)
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| I use your baby mama for a stash option
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| I couldn’t trust that bitch, so she was my last option
|
| Uh, every time we drop, we gave hell to niggas (Gave hell to niggas)
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| So they top five got all three Griselda members
|
| Dope spot, a bunch of empty shells was in it
|
| How I make that brick jump? |
| I had to put my elbow in it
|
| Let’s go
|
| I ain’t playin' no games (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
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| I said this is, my nigga, this is my life, oh, shit (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh) |
| I said listen, listen (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
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| Never had a jump shot, but had a cold pen
|
| Papa was an old pimp that used to smoke Slims, uh
|
| I ain’t the one for the tusslin'
|
| Quick to tell a bitch nigga, «Do something, then»
|
| Brown Timbs with the Polo fleece, uh
|
| Youngins pushin' packs, control those streets
|
| And po-po'll flash the lights tryna find these niggas
|
| Them cocaine '80s turned me into a grimy nigga, ooh
|
| It’s all about the yams
|
| Mama always told me, «Pay your Uncle Sam»
|
| Single mother, always had us on the lam
|
| Livin' in them shelters, spaghetti and hot Spam, goddamn
|
| Pots down, catch the bus to Campton
|
| On my way to Sunday service with my niggas lampin'
|
| Mrs. Harris used to make a mean catfish
|
| We was teens, used to watch the fiends backflip
|
| Talkin' to themselves, sellin' they love
|
| That crack rock is a hell of a drug
|
| In the stash spot, never sell out your plug
|
| Anyone can get shot and killed, so I had to get out for real
|
| 'Cause I’m in another zone
|
| You know the ghetto’s home
|
| You know the ghetto’s home
|
| You know the ghetto’s home
|
| I’m in another zone
|
| You know the ghetto’s home
|
| You know the ghetto’s home
|
| You know the ghetto’s home
|
| 'Cause I’m in another zone
|
| You know the ghetto’s home
|
| You know the ghetto’s home
|
| You know the ghetto’s home
|
| I’m in another zone
|
| You know the ghetto’s home
|
| You know the ghetto’s home
|
| You know the ghetto’s home |