GloryBoy Poppa - Hold Up!(Prod.GhettoSymphony)

Hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up, uh-huh, hold up, hold up, uh-huh, hold up
uh, nigga, hold up, hold up, hold up, uh-huh, hold up
Hold up, it's Papa, I'm the dreadheaded goat
Spent two bands on a motherfuckin' coat

Always talkin' bout a Glock, cause I really let it go
Brody got a chop, and we aimin' at yo' doe
It's the glory boy, mad double or, come spin it, got the chops and we ain't missin'
And cleanin' in the kitchen, let your blood on the dishes

Side bitch mad, cause all I talk about is cash, I'm just tryna touch her back
Hold up, sang at a bitch like I'm Brent
We so loud, you can smell it through the vent
I'm glorious, it's Papa, I'm the king of the trench

When I throw the dreads back, I'ma breathe on a bitch
Glock with a switch, finna make this shit glitch
Told her ho, send her social, why she askin' bout a hitch
Doin' all that talkin', bitch, I'm tryna get rich

Hold up, uh-huh, hold up, hold up, I'm back at it and I'm snappin'
No hand I was givin', if I got it, then I planned it
This blunt, I ain't passin', but it's what you catchin'
Sippin' on this WAC note, bitch, I ain't nappin'

On cloud nine with a nine, I ain't talkin' bout a bitch
Can't deal with a swine or a motherfuckin' snitch
I'm chasin' after chickens, sippin' Henny, no chaser
If a nigga in my way, I throw the right-like phrase

Hold up, okay, bitch, it's Papa
Dreaded like a Ross to make the chopper go blocker
Can't get to your bitch, then I'm fuckin' all your mama
Ghetto on the beat, so you know I had to spaz

Got a real bad bitch with a whole lotta eyes
Put a little bitch on big, now she runnin' up the bag
This shit real, runs what I'm smokin', ain't cheap
Dumped a foe in a Fade, think I'm finna crash the Jeep

Written by:
Tai Vickers

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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