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Credits

COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Dalemonte Stilley
Dalemonte Stilley
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Macfly
Macfly
Producer
Hunter Guess
Hunter Guess
Engineer

Lyrics

Soon as TP hit, I cap a hundred and re-up again I don't give a damn if she fuckin' the opps, chop still droppin' the pin I tote a big ol' chop with a big ol' block, lil' shaka, he keepin' a cig Yeah, I'm fuckin' up bands, yeah, I'm fuckin' up bands Yeah, I'm servin' the grounds, yeah, I'm servin' the grounds I came up servin' the yams, I make the corners, still tryin' to fuck up the machines Sooner the TP land, I walk a sack, cap a hundred, then fuck up a check on some I can't get high on the green, stuff in the money machine when I pour up the trish I stuck my wrist in the pot, I gave my tester a piece and he said it was grease Bad bitch come from Belize, she in the spot when I'm jugging the P She in the spot when I'm countin' up the cheese Cash rule everything around me, I fell in love with the cream Bought a Rolex off the cream, shots in the bezel, it look like cream I'm servin' three on the three, yeah, I got a plug on the three, yeah I got a plug on the team, huh, how far you goin' to meet him How far you comin' to get him? I drop a hundred off every hour that you drive Condo 1.5, yeah, I used to trap on the drive, yeah, I used to trap on the brick That bitch from Belize, I'm bustin' the wrist, escalade in the driveway, fit over fit I'm dialin' these hoes like Vick, I spend a ten on the fit I blew a ten in the rap money, now I'm covered in drip That nigga tried to run off with the trap money, nigga, I put a ten on his wig Fuck the DA, they need to free trap money, I fuck with niggas like twins So many Cuban Links on one arm, yeah, my left wrist feel like a slave I got some niggas that can't make bonds, free all the drug boys locked in the cage Little bitty bitch better bring my money on, told the G5 where the hun done I put a quarter ticket on my wrist, I flooded my neck, oh no, another 300 done Hold up your wrist if it look like this, put the bitch on the grist, now she goin' dumb, dumb Hold up your wrist if it look like this, put the bitch on the grist, now she goin' dumb, dumb Soon as the TP hit, I cap a hundred and re-up again I don't give a damn if she fuckin' an opp, chop still dropping the pin I tote a big ol' chop with a big ol' block, lil' shaka, he keepin' a cig Yeah, I'm fuckin' up bands, yeah, I'm fuckin' up bands Yeah, I'm servin' the grounds, yeah, I'm servin' the grounds I came up servin' the yams, I made the corners, still tryin' to fuck up the machines Soon as the TP land, I walk in saks, cap a hundred, then fuck up a check on somebody I can't get high on the green, stuff in the money machine when I pour up the Trish I stubbed my wrist in the pot, I gave my tester a piece and he said it was grease Fat bitch come from Belize, she in the spot when I'm juggin' the P She in the spot when I'm countin' up the cheese Cash rule everything around me, I fell in love with the cream TP land, cap a hundred, twelve hundred on Chanel runners for my bitch Chalk go four, five, six, load up the bank, I ain't pickin' up shit Roll up the dank, I ain't smokin' no turd weed, nigga, bet not spray my shit I put a trackhawk Jeep on forgies, shot out Willie Moe, I sent a blitz Shot out Pluto, skeet, I put the bitch on a stick, now she suckin' the D Bitch, you ain't never suck a dick like this Quarter ticket, I just cut her my wrist I could've been signed a deal, but I made that shit in one year, sellin' the blue Nigga was sleep on hect, schnooze Now when I come through, I light up the room Chanel bag match my bitch shoe Political stick, come through like, fff Big drug on top of the brick like, fff Yeah, I take a nine out of brick like, fff Yeah, I'm correct this spot with a switch like, fff Yeah, I'm goin' up like the clock said noon
Writer(s): Dalemonte Stilley Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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