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Lyric provided by www.seekalyric.com |
[Verse 1: Cory Gunz] Stare is blank when the trigger face Lil n*gga with a bigger base Know me young homie? here's some money, you wonder now I'll make 2012 with a number dial Talking that sh*t; don't know who they rapping with Pause, I say f*ck em fast, rabbit dicks I turn the booth to a maggot pit She appear when I wave the David Banner wrist Gettin money, you b*tches can't see me like my mother home She's b*tchin her dog is back with another bone Hollar for a dollar, to swallow back I hit her right off of twitter, now follow that I'm booking face, my network is social Young Money, Cash Money, we coach who coach you Slow up them protools with them loco vocals What you know to, don't do, n*gga I'm your go-tos, go-to Plot, once you try I approach you quiet with the toast too Fire, I will smoke you Tie, any man, bear hand choke you Silence is what I go to Violent, burner in the safe, burner in the car, and the plates, burner on the waist Find the burner and they solving the case Murder in the place, let is dislove in his waist I don't give a f*ck if your moms and all is in the play Get your pops, get popped, n*gga pop off Get a drop, in the city chopped, get in knocked off Glock and it gettin' hot, knock ya socks off Get clocked, when it tick, get tocked off Block n*ggas, by the block when it's blocked off Swat looking for the yacht when is docked off In the spot where n*ggas plot to get bopped, pause And when the waps stop then ya top off [Verse 2: Meek Millz] YMCMB Double-M G, you know me Old school flow like Kool Moe Dee Coastal flow, I move low key Make a move OT Get a brick for the low 95 South get a chick that would go Every 36 let the b*tch get an O I put it in the hood that b*tch better snow In the middle of summer, do numbers N*ggas better run from us that, front us That Mac-10 with a drummer, they want us Tell them n*ggas run up, get done up When that automatic get clappin' like Cory Gunz when he rapping That sh*t be spitting so fast, and my n*ggas we platinum And I'm... on the way I'm going glow, I put my pressy on 30 thou, like a got a Camero Chevy on I go loud around the neck give em a heavy one And n*ggas sleeping on me, guess I get my Freddy on Nightmare on you record labels I tell em put the dirty money on the other table You ever seen a 100 racks off fiend money That Martin Luther King, I had a dream money I can tell you n*ggas never seen money We sellin' white girl, gettin Christine money Aguilera, I'm in the Panamera N*ggas whisper when I come through, I can barely hear em I know these n*ggas looking, I can't see em though My daddy in the grave, I make you meet em though They call me, mister "f*ck a n*gga" I don't need a ho Cause I got my paper up, its time to get my haters up I'm gone! B*tch! I'm gone! Double-M G YMCMB n*gga |