[Intro]
(His name's Pablo)
[Verse 1: Jamal Kuron & Rio Da Yung OG]
Couple niggas did me dirty, I ain't even trippin'
Got them poles out, nigga, but I ain't strippin'
Same nigga talkin' crazy just came up missing
Put a couple on his head, let my niggas go and get it
Give a fuck who you with or who you hang with
Y'all can all get y'all ass stumped, Kirk Franklin
I ain't gon' shoot 'em, let my lil' dogs strangle 'em
I ain't tied up with no bitch, I ain't tangled 'em
I just want the neck, bitch, like a headlock
I ain't stoppin' shit, give a fuck if the feds watch
Money got me walkin' funny, feelin' like I'm Redfox
I just bust a nut on her face, that's a headshot
Sippin' on this Henny while I'm waitin' at the drive-through
My bitch goin' on and on, Erykah Badu
Text her best friend, told that lil' ho to slide through
The bitch 5'9" on her knees, the ho 5'2"
Me and bro on the block, 'bout to get it in
This old money that I'm spending, senior citizens
You ain't ridin' like I'm ridin', nigga, what the fuck you in?
Huh? He in a 2002 Benz
Cut these niggas off, guess I'm better off solo
She for everybody, what the fuck I want your ho for?
These niggas throw words, I throw bullets, Tony Romo
Dick on the strap, turn a nigga to a homo
My mind want the best for me, these rappers not impressin' me
Fuck a strip club, bitch, I'd rather invest in me
I control the game like a NBA referee
Jet-black pistol, same color as a refugee
Niggas talkin' work but they ain't even workin'
I got a price for that girl if you tryna purchase
I done seen a lot of shit so I don't get nervous
I done seen a couple of my niggas in them black hearses (Me too)
[Verse 2: Rio Da Yung OG]
This ain't no R&B shit, this spice talkin'
Amiris cheetah print right by the knees, I don't like Balmain
How the fuck they sayin' I told and I don't like talkin'?
The work gone, he callin' for a zip, I'm finna drywall him
Bring me a box of Black&Mild, the casino kind
It's a lie, nigga say he shot at me and he still alive
When it's up with me, I'm still out here in traffic, I ain't finna hide
An eight of red in seven lines of green, it's Christmas time
We finna fuck these niggas up, me and Jamal Kuron
We sell dope, but I know swipers and some 'bow credit cards around
That 'Cat ain't fast enough, I bet this .223 halk you down
Made a hundred racks, then got indicted, mixin' all around
Alright, let me dumb it down, I be sayin' too much
I still get bricks for twenty-six, y'all be payin' too much
I got a boogie bitch who never let me fuck, she be playin' too much
These Percs got me itchin', trippin' like when Hector gave some of the angel dust
Thirty-two hundred just to sip, bitch, this Wockhardt
Grab my heat, then pop up on a nigga, I'm a Pop-Tart
Drunk an eight, then took a couple 30s, I got lockjaw
My son wanna play today, how much a part cost?
I'm good in every hood, bitch, I'm comfortable on 8 Mile
Fuck the pills, made one phone call, now I'm somewhere on a Greyhound
Ain't you tired of tellin' lies? You need to lay down
I'm living proof it's easier to come up when you stay down
Y'all niggas better hurry up, the clock tickin'
I ain't no engineer, but when it come to dope, I know how to mix it
Bitch say I broke her heart, I know how to fix it
Dick her down good, then take the lil' bitch out of town with me
When I made my first twenty, I ain't take no pictures
Baby broke, can't move without a strap, he popped a gang of niggas
Out on bond, so I don't carry guns, but I'll shank a nigga
Burn his body with this four-five, he looked like baked chicken
[Outro: Rio Da Yung OG]
Yeah, nigga, Ghetto Boyz shit
You know what the fuck goin' on, nigga, it's Rio Da Yung OG
What up, Jamal Kuron?
Pressure
