(Tay Keith, fuck these niggas up)
(DJ Meech, lil' bitch)
Them niggas get on y'all ass, y'all play with me like I ain't worse
Tryna gossip on the blogs like y'all ain't said my name first
He a junkie, he ain't shot his gun yet, he blame Percs
Shot a video and had a shootout in the same shirt
What you know 'bout poppin' out and tryin' to hit they face first?
They like Smurk, "Your ass be trippin', better put your case first"
Chokin' who? I heard them rumors, niggas better play slow
I don't want no niggas who you catch, I want the one I paid for
We on his ass, he in the A, you see how long they stay for
Ain't no hotel room, we pop outside the Hyatt with Dracos
Hellcats, they get off any scene, the police chase those
Trollin' ass, we shot your homie, we ain't know he can take those
If I say your name, don't post it, opps be on all kind of shit
I ain't got time to watch your page to see if niggas died or shit
I know bitches set you up, literally, niggas dyin' to hit
In this industry, ain't what it seem, this shit be counterfeit
Ain't no lackin', she say I'm a nigga from the trenches with a accent
Why you askin' me who shot your homie, why you askin'?
You got my number, you post shit on the 'Gram, you movin' backwards
You lucky I don't be doin' shit for the 'Gram, you niggas cowards
Better not believe no rumors, rest in peace to Koopa
I jumped on a school bus, and I had brung a Ruger
Always drunk an 8th of Act', I never drunk a cooler
They get your location, they might pop outside in Ubers
When his goofy ass jumped in the streets? His ass a hooper
I know this shit don't matter, I took a shower with a cougar
Bring him out retirement, he gon' kill you for that mula
Catch him in the mornin', wake him up, that boy a rooster (go)
He took it to trial, I tried to tell him it was stupid (don't do it)
They gave him so much time, his knees got weak and he was woozy (damn)
Watch the shit you say, the feds be listenin' to the music (woah)
And they gon' take your lyrics and build a case and try to use it
D.A. dropped my murder, didn't have evidence to prove it (nah)
I think my house is haunted, yeah, by who? The ghost of Pookie (woah)
He ain't killed nobody but keep rappin' 'bout the shootin' (pussy)
Still ain't got revenge yet but keep makin' up excuses (wow)
Cuz done drunk so much lean that his gut got big as Gucci's (lean)
Told him quit while he ahead and don't go out like Whitney Houston (huh)
He got caught without it, now they robbin' him for his rubies (woah)
He wouldn't give it up so he got buried in his Cuban (it's Gucci)
Better not believe no rumors, rest in peace to Koopa
I jumped on a school bus, and I had brung a Ruger
Always drank an 8th of Act', I never drunk a cooler
They get your location, they might pop outside in Ubers
When his goofy ass jumped in the streets? His ass a hooper
I know this shit don't matter, I took a shower with a cougar
Bring him out retirement, he gon' kill you for that mula
Catch him in the mornin', wake him up, that boy a rooster
Writer(s): Brytavious Lakeith Chambers, Demetrius Moore, Durk Banks, Radric Davis
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, O/B/O DistroKid, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
