Recuperate
Gang!
Ayy, ayy
(Kid Wond3r, you made this beat too? Damn) No Hooks, Part II, bitch you know I'm rockin', nigga
Get your guns up, get your funds up
You on that opp shit, get mop stick, bitch
Out west 290 shit, YSN young street nigga
Ayy, gang
Ayy, ayy
All my niggas gangbang, fuck the other side
Just bought a choppa, now I'm fiendin' for a homicide
Flyest nigga livin', I give bitches butterflies
You a street nigga? Boy, your ass don't even come outside
Get my street sweepers, coroners come and pick my trash up
Made it rain in the club, hoes pickin' cash up
Big body, rims rub, nigga this a fast truck
Brian Urlacher, bitch, you know I got my sacks up
Four MACs in this Q7, this a Mack truck
Big bitch do a split, drop it, bring it back up
When we doin' shows, all the hoes, they attack us
Yeah, we ball, but you fouled out, you shouldn't have hacked up
Tote a strap, nigga, so don't get clapped, nigga
I ain't got time to box with you, I don't wanna scrap with you
You was sleepin' on me well you shouldn't have took a nap nigga
I got you and I know you want your lick back, nigga
I'm from out west, we don't go to kickbacks, nigga
My gun big but it don't got a kickback, nigga
I rock designer, everything mismatched, nigga
She get lost with me, I know you want your bitch back, nigga
I'm ballin' hard, you can have her back, I'm tossin' her, Randy Mossin' her
Bust a nut on her and make her sister lick it off of her
I can't cuff that bitch, no, I'm not a police officer
Got a lot of haters but the glizzies keep them off of us
Gucci, Louis denim, boy, you still rockin' Hollister
Hit the mall with my dawgs and we buy a lot of stuff
If my brother shoot ya, I'ma shoot you, it's a lot of us
Should've worn a vest, .223 bullets chop you up
He say he gettin' money but the numbers never add up
If you say you real, what the fuck you got to act for?
You ain't down to kill, what the fuck you got a strap for?
You ain't chasin' mils, what the fuck you serving packs for?
I fucked her and her friend, made that bitch call for backup
You ain't heard about that last nigga that got clapped up?
Wanna end up like that last nigga tryna act tough?
Addin' money to my stash house and let it stack up
I'm ridin' with this baby choppa 'cause I'm ruthless
Rims blow your bitch a kiss you squarer than a deep dish
Get 'em straight up out that water yeah like a sea fish
Hit your block, then we double back, that's a remix
I spray the K then I get ghost like I'm Casper
Niggas broke, but I ain't, what I need a cast for?
Don't be stupid, boy, you know what we get on your ass for
No face, no case, what you think I got my mask for?
I-I-I heard niggas on that hate shit
These-these-these niggas broke, gotta face it
I-I roll me up a Swisher and I face it
My-my rims big, made my car look like a spaceship
I-I just bought another Draco with that K clip
I aim it at your nose, give your ass a face lift
If you ain't talkin' money, I don't want your conversation
I just wanna fuck you bitch, I don't want your relations
Stick to that G-code you don't know your combination
Them-them-them choppa bullets stoppin' your blood from circulatin'
The feds tryin' stoppin' my trap from percolatin'
But meanwhile, I'm out of town, recuperatin'
Ayy, ayy
(Kid Wond3r, you made this beat too? Damn) No Hooks, Part II, bitch you know I'm rockin', nigga
Get your guns up, get your funds up
You on that opp shit, get mop stick, bitch
Out west 290 shit, YSN young street nigga
Ayy, gang
Ayy, ayy
All my niggas gangbang, fuck the other side
Just bought a choppa, now I'm fiendin' for a homicide
Flyest nigga livin', I give bitches butterflies
You a street nigga? Boy, your ass don't even come outside
Get my street sweepers, coroners come and pick my trash up
Made it rain in the club, hoes pickin' cash up
Big body, rims rub, nigga this a fast truck
Brian Urlacher, bitch, you know I got my sacks up
Four MACs in this Q7, this a Mack truck
Big bitch do a split, drop it, bring it back up
When we doin' shows, all the hoes, they attack us
Yeah, we ball, but you fouled out, you shouldn't have hacked up
Tote a strap, nigga, so don't get clapped, nigga
I ain't got time to box with you, I don't wanna scrap with you
You was sleepin' on me well you shouldn't have took a nap nigga
I got you and I know you want your lick back, nigga
I'm from out west, we don't go to kickbacks, nigga
My gun big but it don't got a kickback, nigga
I rock designer, everything mismatched, nigga
She get lost with me, I know you want your bitch back, nigga
I'm ballin' hard, you can have her back, I'm tossin' her, Randy Mossin' her
Bust a nut on her and make her sister lick it off of her
I can't cuff that bitch, no, I'm not a police officer
Got a lot of haters but the glizzies keep them off of us
Gucci, Louis denim, boy, you still rockin' Hollister
Hit the mall with my dawgs and we buy a lot of stuff
If my brother shoot ya, I'ma shoot you, it's a lot of us
Should've worn a vest, .223 bullets chop you up
He say he gettin' money but the numbers never add up
If you say you real, what the fuck you got to act for?
You ain't down to kill, what the fuck you got a strap for?
You ain't chasin' mils, what the fuck you serving packs for?
I fucked her and her friend, made that bitch call for backup
You ain't heard about that last nigga that got clapped up?
Wanna end up like that last nigga tryna act tough?
Addin' money to my stash house and let it stack up
I'm ridin' with this baby choppa 'cause I'm ruthless
Rims blow your bitch a kiss you squarer than a deep dish
Get 'em straight up out that water yeah like a sea fish
Hit your block, then we double back, that's a remix
I spray the K then I get ghost like I'm Casper
Niggas broke, but I ain't, what I need a cast for?
Don't be stupid, boy, you know what we get on your ass for
No face, no case, what you think I got my mask for?
I-I-I heard niggas on that hate shit
These-these-these niggas broke, gotta face it
I-I roll me up a Swisher and I face it
My-my rims big, made my car look like a spaceship
I-I just bought another Draco with that K clip
I aim it at your nose, give your ass a face lift
If you ain't talkin' money, I don't want your conversation
I just wanna fuck you bitch, I don't want your relations
Stick to that G-code you don't know your combination
Them-them-them choppa bullets stoppin' your blood from circulatin'
The feds tryin' stoppin' my trap from percolatin'
But meanwhile, I'm out of town, recuperatin'
Credits
Writer(s): Anthony Beecham, Bill Hullett
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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