Ain't that DJ Chose over there? I lost some old friends I had to tell, "No" (Look like DJ Chose) The streets they washed up most of these niggas hoes Can't see be goin' out sad, oh no, no, no Yeah
When you ain't havin' nothin', watch how they treat you At my lowest all I had was God, don't ever think I need you Count up a hundred bands of dirty money, huh, huh (Out the mud, nigga) Showed you the move and you tried to work it on me, I'm like
I swear to God 'fore I got out, I wanna shoot (Yeah) Clap rods like it ain't nothin' else to do (Fah-fah) Keep a stick on me, better have it on you (Yеah) And if you got the drop, nigga, fuck it come on through (Sheesh)
Pull up Nigga, fuck it, come on through Know wе outside with it (Yeah, yeah) Nigga, fuck it, come on through
We don't give no fucks, play you out of luck, uh I keep it on my side like my. 40 was a crutch I workin' with a pair, but bitch, I ain't the one Might pop one in your head talking 'bout a one on one, huh Never catch me slippin', got it tucked right by my belly Ask around the city since a lil' one I been steppin' I stay out people business 'cause that shit be gettin' messy 'Cause soon I flash out, you gotta check it or respect it I pray to God that my dawg come home I keep it gun just to make it home I hope my mom know I love her soul But you raised a child with a troubled soul
I swear to God 'fore I got out, I wanna shoot (Yeah) Clap rods like it ain't nothin' else to do (Fah-fah) Keep a stick on me, better have it on you (Yeah) And if you got the drop, nigga, fuck it come on through (Sheesh)
Pull up Nigga, fuck it, come on through Know we outside with it (Yeah, yeah) Nigga, fuck it, come on through
I pray to God that my dawg come home I keep a gun just to mkae it home I hope my mom know I love her soul But you raised a child with a troubled soul
Compositores: Norman Payne, Fredick Ii Givens (Fredo Bang) ECAD: Obra #42392584