If you thought your love for chicken wings was deep, wait till you dive into the spicy world of this track! Freddie Gibbs serves up a platter of gritty street tales with a side of nostalgia, all seasoned with his youthful escapades and hardened survival instincts. The recurring order of "six wing mild sauce" isn't just a favorite meal; it's a metaphor for Gibbs' unapologetic indulgence in life's pleasures amidst chaos. From dodging dangers in his hood to savoring victories over enemies, every line is like a bite into his complex reality—flavored heavily with resilience and peppered with defiance. So, grab your napkins (or maybe your bulletproof vest) and get ready for a feast that hits harder than your average midnight snack run!
Harold's
Lyrics
I keep a chip off in my cell phone
Pocket full of stones, smoking on the strong
Freddy kane, freddy corleone
Marshalltown niggas had a nigga running home
I call collect get me a 38, now bitch is on
9 millimeter, baretta to 40 cal
By 23 fresh up out the box, bitch I hold it down
I hit the stroll with a chili bowl and a crooked smile
Fast forward ten years came back with roley's with golden crowns
Skinny nigga
Six wing mild sauce
With all the fries you can give me
I tear them bitches off
Ski mask on yo baby daddy?
Well that's that nigga loss
Pointin' my trey five seven, I got my point across
A skinny nigga
Six wing mild sauce
With all the fries you can give me
I tear them bitches off
This burning hole in my pocket
Got me out here 50 soft
Two-twenty-three on my enemy
I tear them bitches off
A skinny nigga
Six wing mild sauce
With all the fries you can give me
I tear them bitches off
A plate of chicken with the bread stuck to the bottom
Fuck my enemies what you looking for bitch I got 'em
Bitch, bitch I got 'em
Bitch, bitch I got 'em
Fuck my enemies what you looking for bitch I got 'em
Bitch, bitch I got 'em
Bitch, bitch I got 'em
Fuck my enemies what you looking for bitch I got 'em
Kfc, harolds, sharks and popeyes
Adidas suit with a plate of chicken, got mob ties
A fresh delt', weed crumbs on my plush seats
I got my license now I'm backseat fucking every week
A thick bitch live in miller, go to work
3:30 school was out then I was fresh under her skirt
Them project niggas hit that bitch, that pussy went berserk
Don't hit without that trojan, fuck around you might get burnt
She was raised in the church, turnt out in the ghetto
Lock it, pussy pop it, I swear this bitch deserve a medal
Seen school girls turn into strippers in stilletos
Pimpin' 'til I die, if you wanna stop then get ya shovel bitch
Extra sauce with the bread stuck to the bottom
Freddie forgiato, all my bitches spoiled rotten
Cop that llama, got the hollows poppin' out the barrel
Got a stain for them hubbas meet me at the harolds, bitch
A skinny nigga
Six wing mild sauce
With all the fries you can give me
I tear them bitches off
A plate of chicken
With the bread stuck to the bottom
But fuck my enemies what you looking for bitch I got 'em
Bitch, bitch I got 'em
Bitch, bitch I got 'em
Fuck my enemies what you looking for bitch I got 'em
Bitch, bitch I got 'em
Bitch, bitch I got 'em
Fuck my enemies what you looking for bitch I got 'em
Writer(s): Alexander M. Goose, Henry Olivarez, Otis Jackson
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Hipgnosis Songs Group, EMPIRE PUBLISHING
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
What is the Meaning of Harold's
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