Tekst piosenki
(Waka Flocka Flame)
Uh
Uh
Aye Gucci, man
We good right now, man
Get Money Goons, man
[ Verse 1: Gucci Mane ]
There’s a white girl in town, Name is Cocaine
There’s some dirty birds in town: Gucci Mane & Waka Flame
We fly in, I’m buyin, say you got more birds? You lyin
You trying and lying, you boys ain’t supplying
I pitch like Nolan Ryan, got cocaína frying
My partners stick up kids, duct tape what they gon’ tie in
In the bushes they lying in all night, that’s my word
By the end of the morning, they left with them birds
Gone off that purp, I’m slurring my words
I swerved in my Benz, bang my Forgi’s on the curb
The lean, the herb, pay me like the First
You cross Brick Squad, get hurt I got work
Gucci!
[ Hook: Waka Flocka Flame ]
My homeboys will get you, Pay you on the Thirty-Third
Two pints of lean will have me slurring on my words
Undertaker car, triple black drop bird (Nyoom!)
Stomach full of money, so hundreds I’mma burp (’Scuze me!)
All the hoods love us like the Fifteenth and the First
Two pints of lean will have me slurring on my words
Undertaker car, triple black drop bird
Stomach full of money, so hundreds I’mma burp
All the hoods love us like the Fifteenth and the First
[ Verse 2: Waka Flocka Flame ]
Five grand for a head shot (OOH!)
Boy don’t be no Flinstone and get your bedrocked, Nigga
Triple red drop, (?) through the parking lot
Where I’m from, young niggas shooting at the cops
Where I’m from, they thuggin’ (Yuh!)
My hood right side, nigga, Green flagging
Lay your ass down if you do too much bragging
Three case, Four Glocks, nigga, that’s swagging
Uh!
Penalized, then goes the Packa-Man
What’cha hell, you would think it was a cracker-man
I don’t know ’em beh-bah-bah-back’em man
Fuck ’em den! Throw my stash in the club that there’ll do
Every girl gettin past you
Send an ambulance on that ass I want that rent due
Robbin’ every nigga that Hit Squad, Blood, or Piru
(FLOCKA!)
[Hook]
[ Verse 3: Waka Flocka Flame ]
Half a million dollar jewelry like, „Fuck that bird!”
Niggas screaming they want beef, I’m like, „Roger that!”
My album didn’t sell, so I’m laying niggas down
Shooting every nigga that burps, sneeze, or fucking frown
[ Verse 4: YG Hootie ]
40 carats on my brac-elet, my Polo black
Niggas talking like they won’t be not wanting that
7 grams in this Swisher, I’m gon’ solo that
Riding around with my strap like, „Where they at?”
All these rap niggas hold us on my Philly hat
You will never be a legend like the Gucci Man
You will never be turnt up like my partner Flock
You niggas hoes I run your block when them choppers chop
Hooter
[Hook]
Komentarze (0)