What They Hittin' Foe?
Gettin' down in a crap game
Fools think I'm soft, cause now I'm in the rap game
And I don't hang out as much, bang out dope cuts
Standin' on stage and I'm grabbin' my nuts
But when it comes to gettin' in a circle
I'm hittin' sevens turnin' broke niggas purple
Looking fo' Little Joe and the dumb fools scream and choke
When deuce-deuce hit the floor, yo
Now which of ya wanna fade the twenty?
I'm turnin' your fat pockets skinny
Aww yeah I'm shaking the ivory
And boom, it's like they die for me
Fool you can get loud, get mad, hit the joint
But don't forget my point, there it is yo
I put my Nike on the bet so it won't slide
Money gone cause I'm never hittin' deuce-five
I'm never hittin' four-trey, no way
You wanna leave but come on bro stay
Yeah, fever that'll work
Poppa need brand-new shoes and a sweatshirt
Fool, you can't even get wit' that
And now that I'm winnin', I gots to get my gat
Cause I see, your homies starting to look
And broke little punks, they make the best crooks
And I'm feelin' like a baller
Buckin' fools, now the circle's getting smaller
Now you wanna go and scheme
Little suckas like you just love to triple-team
So I pick up my money and start walkin'
'Cause now I let the gat start talkin'
Now, since y'all lost, you wanna go out like the others
Take that ya' little suckas
Fools think I'm soft, cause now I'm in the rap game
And I don't hang out as much, bang out dope cuts
Standin' on stage and I'm grabbin' my nuts
But when it comes to gettin' in a circle
I'm hittin' sevens turnin' broke niggas purple
Looking fo' Little Joe and the dumb fools scream and choke
When deuce-deuce hit the floor, yo
Now which of ya wanna fade the twenty?
I'm turnin' your fat pockets skinny
Aww yeah I'm shaking the ivory
And boom, it's like they die for me
Fool you can get loud, get mad, hit the joint
But don't forget my point, there it is yo
I put my Nike on the bet so it won't slide
Money gone cause I'm never hittin' deuce-five
I'm never hittin' four-trey, no way
You wanna leave but come on bro stay
Yeah, fever that'll work
Poppa need brand-new shoes and a sweatshirt
Fool, you can't even get wit' that
And now that I'm winnin', I gots to get my gat
Cause I see, your homies starting to look
And broke little punks, they make the best crooks
And I'm feelin' like a baller
Buckin' fools, now the circle's getting smaller
Now you wanna go and scheme
Little suckas like you just love to triple-team
So I pick up my money and start walkin'
'Cause now I let the gat start talkin'
Now, since y'all lost, you wanna go out like the others
Take that ya' little suckas
Credits
Writer(s): O'shea Jackson, Weldon Johnathan Jr. Irvine, Alan Edward Gorrie
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
© 2024 All rights reserved. Rockol.com S.r.l. Website image policy
Rockol
- Rockol only uses images and photos made available for promotional purposes (“for press use”) by record companies, artist managements and p.r. agencies.
- Said images are used to exert a right to report and a finality of the criticism, in a degraded mode compliant to copyright laws, and exclusively inclosed in our own informative content.
- Only non-exclusive images addressed to newspaper use and, in general, copyright-free are accepted.
- Live photos are published when licensed by photographers whose copyright is quoted.
- Rockol is available to pay the right holder a fair fee should a published image’s author be unknown at the time of publishing.
Feedback
Please immediately report the presence of images possibly not compliant with the above cases so as to quickly verify an improper use: where confirmed, we would immediately proceed to their removal.