Jabb - Ready or Not (feat. 4lo Drilla)

I gotta get low man, pray my pistol don't jam
Give this to my fam and send my love to the block
Heavy on the loads every time we hit the road man
Everything's a go tell me you ready or not
Pull up in a hell just to wish the haters well
Crack the window you can smell when I'm peeling out the lot
Trunk full of bells and my pedal to the metal
Cause I'm not a fan of twelve, middle finger to the law

In some fast, doing the dash and that bitch digital, digital
Hitting the gas, hope I don't crash, shit can get critical, critical
Ain't punch the clock, I'm on the block, hood politicals
Who you know flood in intervals, still getting good residuals
Tunnel my vision, buried my ears, speak at a minimal
Feel it in the air, along with za, ohh what a miracle
I already know how this gon go you niggas predictable
Yeah
Please don't bang my line and try to cop now
Playing in that water boy you might drown
Got Da O with me even when I'm not round
I got work in the air about to touchdown
Better get it while its good like the stock down
Rolling with my top down
Moving how I wanna cause its my town
Fuck a hitter I'm that nigga after all
If I don't do nothing man I know that I'm a ball

I gotta get low man, pray my pistol don't jam
Give this to my fam and send my love to the block
Heavy on the loads every time we hit the road man
Everything's a go tell me you ready or not
Pull up in a hell just to wish the haters well
Crack the window you can smell when I'm peeling out the lot
Trunk full of bells and my pedal to the metal
Cause I'm not a fan of twelve, middle finger to the law

Quick to get them bells gone, do the dash if twelve come
A hundred in that Tesla got me swerving through the block
Got em and they low, charging twenty-six a bowl
Soon as I get em let em go and you can smell em when they drop
Love to trap my bread long, chopper knock his head off
You can try to run but you won't make it to tomorrow
Fuck a rat who said some, go to jail ain't saying none
Niggas know we thuggin middle finger to the law, aye
Pop a perc now I'm on demon time
Five percent we sliding foreign and you can't see inside
We get the drop, spin on they block and we let bullets fly
You throw that four then its forever ain't no switching sides
Hope these niggas don't try to test us
Invested in them killers, play with me and they shoot neck up
McGrady in his prime tell them niggas run they check up
Quick to tuck this chain and show you where my respect from

I gotta get low man, pray my pistol don't jam
Give this to my fam and send my love to the block
Heavy on the loads every time we hit the road man
Everything's a go tell me you ready or not
Pull up in a hell just to wish the haters well
Crack the window you can smell when I'm peeling out the lot
Trunk full of bells and my pedal to the metal
Cause I'm not a fan of twelve, middle finger to the law

Written by:
JAMIE LEE ADAMS, KYLE FORREST INGLE, NATHAN CHRISTOPHER FRAME, PATRICK RYAN RIVERS

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid, Songtrust Ave

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