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YFN Lucci – 7.62

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исполнитель YFN Lucci

правообладатель Warner Music Group Think It's A Game/Warner Records

жанр Рэп

длительность 00:30

размер 6.51 MB

битрейт 320 kbps

загружено Warner Music Group

7.62
00:30
Pipe that shit up TnT Dmac on the fuckin' track Yeah I say, uh, oh, yeah, look In the back of the Benz, I just got it painted The grill gold-plated, ha, my crib steel-gated When we ain’t used to have not a dollar, we would go and take it, ha Robberies and grand theft autos, I can’t fake it They told me, «Don't be trippin' about it,» I can’t save it A whole lotta money bring problems, but if a nigga play We gon' get him murdered tomorrow, wanna see me demonstrate? '87 t-top Cutlass, put it on the interstate Solitaire Dior Bucket, they can’t even see my face These hoes, they want me to chase, I don’t keep my sneakers laced I don’t ride straight-eight, my key can’t go to no valet Flew my cars out to LA I sold so many 'bows in this bitch, we gon' need to vacate We been on for some decades (Yeah) Look, smokin' grade A, but in school I got low grades Get that boy a box of perfume, he got ho ways Look, throw that boy a 7.62, we don’t throw shade (Yeah) I hope every one of 'em hit you, not parlay Look, I’ma die in these Cuban links, I feel like Rod Wave Walk through 'em, want me to come through, that’s a rollie Look, what you gon' do when the money through, shorty? Don’t keep tellin' me what you gon' do for me (Uh, okay) Yeah, I only talk 'bout shit that I go through, I ain’t phony, huh You gon' do, huh, what to who? I ain’t homie, huh Last man, he got trash canned 'bout the homie I ain’t no cappin', I spent your advance on lil' homie, uh We gon' get an address, we gon' land til the morning, huh Matter fact, gon' hit 'em up while I’m performin', huh I just got another grill, call me George Foreman I just got another mil' and I ain’t even hungry (Uh) All you niggas do is bitch, you worser than a woman (Yeah) Anybody get it, nigga, show me my opponent, huh I be in the newest shit, I introduce you to this I put you on my shooter list, fuck it, let me do the bitch I been goin' through some shit, flip out, get the jeweler hit I’m the one like Chris' child, we don’t sip on no Cristal I remember ridin' 'round in that bucket, ha When we was in that Nissan, they didn’t give me nothin', ha When I was fucked up, my own bitch wouldn’t even love me When I ain’t have my swagger right, no ho wouldn’t even fuck me I be on some feed the fam shit, I know my mama proud of me I know that cup real good, I just can’t put down that shit I do it real big, but they don’t acknowledge it Look at where I live, huh, you know I cashed out on it A condo and a crib, I pay more than 1.5 for it Everyday expensive shit, everything I’m in be lit Every time I think 'bout jit, I be tryna spin some shit, uh Long live all of my niggas, so we done came far Hate I gotta talk to you in the graveyard
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