38
38

Smiley ft. Pressa - 38 Lyrics

8
38 Music Video

38 Lyrics

(Tay Keith, fuck these niggas up)
I keep a Glock, a .38, uh
I keep a Glock, a .38, uh (special)
I keep a Glock, a .38, uh (yeah, what?)
I keep a Glock, yeah, uh

I keep a Glock, a .38
I bought a brick, I'm in the trap
But only came with twenty-eight grams, ho
Bitch, I feel like Jessie James (yeah)
My mind is steady trippin', hope this weed'll eat my brain
Bitch, I hope it simulate my brain (yeah)
T'd up in the cut, I call it Mr. Getaway (yeah)
My crodie buss an AP, but I told 'em show it plain
'Cause it's plane jane sky dweller, one to twenty K, nigga
We kick your door, nigga, everybody on the floor, nigga
Boy, if you trappin' in this bitch, then answer your phone, nigga
Catch me with .35, see crodie, he a known hitter
I was out there trappin' all night, came home to cold dinners
I was out there ballin' all night, no one to coach me
My junkie fiendin' all night, gave him a bogie
Jumped in the stoley, crodie went got a trophy
So shoutout crodie 'cause half of these niggas got cold feet

I was trappin' by Troby's, started with an OZ
My bitch caught me cheatin', had to blame it on the brodie
Losin' friends, find a piece, shit gettin' lonely
Buy or Bye loadin', I'm still here recordin'
They gotta be jokin', I'm on beats floatin'
I'm over here exploadin', we over here explorin'
Took her on the P.J., had her wearin' PJ's
Fucked her on my B-day, MK on the three-way
She wanna come the live way, I'm tired, fucked her sideways
She gonna my side bitch, this molly got me high pitched
Shooters in the next whip, called but I missed it
Bro said I'm gifted, he fell off, yeah, he drifted
She know I'm on a mission, I can't explain the vision
She wanna wear Christian, I miss my brother Tristan
She wanna be my vixen, I fucked her then I dissed it, yeah
She wanna suck on K and me, she a groupie
And it was me that filmed that bitch, like I'm OMgee
And my money only clean once in the laundry
Draco got a fat-ass clip, gotta it Cardi
Bro-bro in the cut and he bring it in the party

I fuck with her, she think she grown, yeah
My brother son is like my own, gang, huh
Watch your mouth, watch your tone, bitch, huh
She fuck me with, she want a loan, yeah
I get her wet, I bring her on roads
My fiends high, just like a drone, huh?
My glizzy yell, it doesn't moan, no
I love my gang, I love my bros, yeah
I love designer, love my loafs
It's me and Pressa, she wanna chill, huh?
Pour up my cup, I like it filled, yeah
They do it solo, need a pill

Writer(s): Alexandre Morand, Brytavious Chambers, Q. Gardner
Copyright(s): Lyrics © TUNECORE INC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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