On Papers
Yeah
Ghetto boy shit
Man I like this one
*snorts*
(Got that on my beat)
I'm in a bust off a bust with the 45
A nigga run up un us and he gon' die
Forty five hunnid' dollar outfit, I'm so fly
Thirty eight hunnid' for a pint, I'm so high
Niggas clutchin' on they guns when I roll by
But they know don't flick a shot or they gon' die
Jump out the Benz WAWAAUHHHHHHHH!
Y'aight
Jump out the Benz with the chop, let it ghost ride
Y'all can't do that yellow shit cuz we started that
Bitch I was the nigga fore I knew how to rap
And I sold a lotta crack before I wrote the rap
I got a Glock third back, I don't wanna scrap
Say you moved a thousand pounds, where you sold them at?
Where the baking soda at, I got a pint, where the soda at?
Yeah, I know I rap and all, but I'm blowing straps
I got a fifty-piece on me and a Gucci wallet
This mad bag got a ticket, we don't do deposits
This an entanglement, we fuck it, so don't tell nobody
Really want a friend, shoot my shot, watch it passin' by me
I'm doing good, hit the road, ain't no label sign me
I'm in the streets baggin' up, it ain't hard to find me
A milly gold with the stones, they gon' blow behind me
Gucci down to the socks, yeah I'm actin' funny
Head nigga with me on god, they gon' blast somebody
So when them shots rang, get out there don't know who shotti
We done came to the bust, put the bag behind it
A real nigga took his time and ain't tell on nobody
I'm in the dojo with the trainer like I know karate
I put a three on a one and I still dropped somebody
My fans keep comin' back, so they pay for this body
And I ain't gon pay no money and we gon survive (they dead)
Every twelve hours I'm in sax finna blow the sack
Damn, you got a re-up in the morning, you can't blow us that
Forty five hunnid for a pound, where they grew all that?
Oh, you got dat shit from Steve O, I was knewin' dat
I got a Cali plug too, I get real uuhh
We the ones in BTREY drive the sales up
Monkey nuts on a AR in this field up
Yeah, Will my manager but he still brusts
I know lil' baby say she won't, but she'll still fuck
She just wanna smoke my weed and eat these pills up
I'm just tryna' hit the room, I'm tryna drill some
Baby, I'm a wild boy and I don't feel nothin'
Finessed the whole eight, say he don't feel nothin'
I put the packin' in the street, yeah we still pumpin'
I get my bag out the state, that lil' shit ain't nothin'
I'm on probation buy the bag, man I'm still comin'
Like nah, for real, I'm still comin'
I'm still on my way
Nigga I'm on probation
Nigga and I still get on dat plane
You hear me
Haha
It's Mac
Gang
Ghetto boy shit
Man I like this one
*snorts*
(Got that on my beat)
I'm in a bust off a bust with the 45
A nigga run up un us and he gon' die
Forty five hunnid' dollar outfit, I'm so fly
Thirty eight hunnid' for a pint, I'm so high
Niggas clutchin' on they guns when I roll by
But they know don't flick a shot or they gon' die
Jump out the Benz WAWAAUHHHHHHHH!
Y'aight
Jump out the Benz with the chop, let it ghost ride
Y'all can't do that yellow shit cuz we started that
Bitch I was the nigga fore I knew how to rap
And I sold a lotta crack before I wrote the rap
I got a Glock third back, I don't wanna scrap
Say you moved a thousand pounds, where you sold them at?
Where the baking soda at, I got a pint, where the soda at?
Yeah, I know I rap and all, but I'm blowing straps
I got a fifty-piece on me and a Gucci wallet
This mad bag got a ticket, we don't do deposits
This an entanglement, we fuck it, so don't tell nobody
Really want a friend, shoot my shot, watch it passin' by me
I'm doing good, hit the road, ain't no label sign me
I'm in the streets baggin' up, it ain't hard to find me
A milly gold with the stones, they gon' blow behind me
Gucci down to the socks, yeah I'm actin' funny
Head nigga with me on god, they gon' blast somebody
So when them shots rang, get out there don't know who shotti
We done came to the bust, put the bag behind it
A real nigga took his time and ain't tell on nobody
I'm in the dojo with the trainer like I know karate
I put a three on a one and I still dropped somebody
My fans keep comin' back, so they pay for this body
And I ain't gon pay no money and we gon survive (they dead)
Every twelve hours I'm in sax finna blow the sack
Damn, you got a re-up in the morning, you can't blow us that
Forty five hunnid for a pound, where they grew all that?
Oh, you got dat shit from Steve O, I was knewin' dat
I got a Cali plug too, I get real uuhh
We the ones in BTREY drive the sales up
Monkey nuts on a AR in this field up
Yeah, Will my manager but he still brusts
I know lil' baby say she won't, but she'll still fuck
She just wanna smoke my weed and eat these pills up
I'm just tryna' hit the room, I'm tryna drill some
Baby, I'm a wild boy and I don't feel nothin'
Finessed the whole eight, say he don't feel nothin'
I put the packin' in the street, yeah we still pumpin'
I get my bag out the state, that lil' shit ain't nothin'
I'm on probation buy the bag, man I'm still comin'
Like nah, for real, I'm still comin'
I'm still on my way
Nigga I'm on probation
Nigga and I still get on dat plane
You hear me
Haha
It's Mac
Gang
Credits
Writer(s): Darius Dean, Money Mac
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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