Jon Doe0118 - Doe Flow, Pt. 1

Yoooooop
Ironic
Water whippin' Doe in the kitchen where you find me
Pull up with that chicken, lil' nigga get a nine piece

Couldn't stop time, I slowed it down with ice
Fuck with me, get a bag, hit the road, change your life
Bitch, tell me what you want, I can get you what you like
Get you two unhit white pits by tonight

Take a trip for the pape, you ain't got it take a flight
In this game with some shit, go left, make a right
One call a hundred shots, I'll really one of one it
Put a O on a nigga back, call him Andre Drummond

Had the bang on the plug, he wasn't talkin' numbers
Throw some bullets at a nigga, but the hit will make him fumble
Keep it real with my piece, in the field with bare feet
You wanna act bananas, we'll get peeled when we eat

Spill some deuce on the yacht, she a lick and take a sip
I can damn near flood a ship with all this water on my wrist
So real, they be like, Doe ain't got no chill
Smackdown on your bitch, rated R

I'm the true steal, fisher price chopper
Knock the pedals off your big wheel
Say you got the juice till it's beef, get your shit spilled
Timmy when I'm on the block, Manu when them with them euros drop

Tony, I float this bitch, Kyrie, how I move the rock
Mr. Dame, Curry, how I sleep you then wave good bye
Park this bitch behind your head and put the shells in auto drive
Walkin' with my head down, it's money on the floor

10 milli and a forty, bitch, that's fifty at your door
I'm addicted to this pape, bitch, I get high and count the roll
I ain't steppin' in no lanes, don't come steppin' on my toes
They'll turn they back on you when you needin' them the most

Bando and a heater, only thing I had was hope
Dreams haunted by the reaper, I swear he wanted smoke
Throwin' bullets at the nigga prayin', God don't let me go
Ain't have my mama or my daddy when my granny had her stroke

Nine years old, home alone, shit, I knew I couldn't fold
Ain't have my mama or my daddy when my granny had her stroke
Nine years old, home alone, shit, I knew I couldn't fold
Long days and cold nights, most of those was by myself

I looked the reaper in the eyes, I done shot it out with death
I went from rats on the stove, now it's dinners with the chef
Penthouse from a bando, thumbin' through a check, nigga
Yoooooop, let it ride G

Written by:
Johnnie Carr

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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