BabyDrill, Rob49 and YTB Fatt - Check Ups

(WhatItDoFlip)
Yeah

Murder man, murder man, I've been talkin' to the devil
Step on shit and get 'em gone, now who the fuck gon' come and help you?
These niggas be bitch-made, claimin' they just active like they some steppers
Hood rich shooter, Christian Dior when I'm steppin', bitch, go get your rep up
He bought a vest, lil' buddy dumb as hell, like I just don't shoot neck up
Drop the pants, huh, we put belt to ass, this shit far from checkups
Suburban my block, ride 'round with a Glock, hot shit, can't wait to catch 'em
Oh, he too bad, he think he steppin', he just met the devil

Uh, I'm in that 'Iami in the C8, nigga, we don't use Berettas, we some soul catchers
In my city, if the smoke real, better have that bitch on you if you taking your mama to breakfast
Murder rate risin' in my city, nigga, if I point my finger, the Foxes'll catch you
I got that shit on me in traffic with twenty-two thousand, a Glock, and a fuckin' Beretta (bitch)
The Cadillac truck came with pipes, call this bitch a 'Lac-Hawk slash fuckin' catcher
It give me Trackhawk vibes, body jerk back and forth as I tap the pedal
Know you seen all that shit Bagg gave me in January, spent that shit in January
You ask my city, don't play Fatt Fox with that cheese, he'll get you sent to the cemetery

Murder man, murder man, I've been talkin' to the devil
Step on shit and get 'em gone, now who the fuck gon' come and help you?
These niggas be bitch-made, claimin' they just active like they some steppers
Hood rich shooter, Christian Dior when I'm steppin', bitch, go get your rep up
He bought a vest, lil' buddy dumb as hell, like I just don't shoot neck up
Drop the pants, huh, we put belt to ass, this shit far from checkups
Suburban my block, ride 'round with a Glock, hot shit, can't wait to catch 'em
Oh, he too bad, he think he steppin', he just met the devil

Yeah, I'm in a bulletproof truck right now, still paranoid like they come through cars
I seen a lot of fuck niggas get that chalk, get killed or go stop that heart
Fed trippin', they done did some sweeps in the hood, no cap, I'm still comin' (yeah)
Whoopty-whoop, he just put a fifty on a nigga's top, that's real money
Big VM, real headhunter, slap the shit out a nigga, real street plumber
Gotta watch what I say on this song
'Cause this street shit real, these niggas just rhyme better (yeah)
When them niggas got dropped, nigga, I ain't did it (yeah)
We don't buy no bodies, we buy titties
Brodie gon' shoot and assist, he a real MVP, nickname Scott Pippen (yeah)
Nigga (nigga)

Murder man, murder man, I've been talkin' to the devil
Step on shit and get 'em gone, now who the fuck gon' come and help you?
These niggas be bitch-made, claimin' they just active like they some steppers
Hood rich shooter, Christian Dior when I'm steppin', bitch, go get your rep up
He bought a vest, lil' buddy dumb as hell, like I just don't shoot neck up
Drop the pants, huh, we put belt to ass, this shit far from checkups
Suburban my block, ride 'round with a Glock, hot shit, can't wait to catch 'em
Oh, he too bad, he think he steppin', he just met the devil

Written by:
Cavon Paige, Fedrekis Walker, Robert Thomas, DelQuristo Wilson

Publisher:
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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