OG Win - Rap Or Die (Radio Edit)
UhhLa la la la la
941 941 Shit
La la la la la
God money Shit
La la la la la la la la la la la la
Hiphop ain't dead niggas just scared niggas ain't rapping
They just trying to make bread
I been ducking cops since my pops went fed
I went through a lot Nigga I was born dead
Oh lord
Trap game fucked up uh! I got trapping in my blood
Rap game fucked up uh! I got rapping in my blood
You ain't talking god money boy you ain't rich enough
You ain't afraid of your dreams I guess they ain't big enough
Never do I have to spoil my bitch and ima leave em before I feed em
Fuck you on some disloyal Shit so how I meet em how I treat em
Every Nigga in my clique is worth a brick depend on how I see em
Told lil smoo you gotta bring the sticks you never know if we might need em
Fluff the weed inside the microwave man I swear I had to heat em
Twelve behind me on the interstate I make my side bitch eat em
My pit-bull slept the night away so tomorrow ima beat em uh
Cocaine in my baller blockers everybody think I bleached em Nigga uh
Either you is or either you ain't
Either you can or either can't
Either you will or either you won't
Is it a deal or is it a don't
OG Win got the city on go
Real niggas and I know they on go
Real bitches and I keep em on go
Drug dealers trapping out the front door
God money camp do or die
Army fatigue drip camouflage
Niggas talking bout the city there's
You can see that the shit is mines
Niggas talking bout they wanna share
Lil whodi Sarasotas mine
If you wanna make it out alive
Pussy boy you gotta rap or die
See the cloth that I'm cut from
All my uncles they was thugs
Mama use to work two jobs
Pops use to sell drugs
All my homies sold dope or robbed
Nasty got locked up
941 We gone make it out
I got hustlers in my blood
Trap game fucked up uh! I got trapping in my blood
Rap game fucked up uh I got rapping in my blood
You ain't talking god money
Hmmmmhhhmmm hmmmm hmmm hmmm
Uh
Soon as I jump off the plane ima charge em for the ticket
Come on win now you can't complain you should've told them boys to ship it
Make sure you in the safe zone because your last call was clicking
Had to run and use the pay phone when I ran out of minutes
I can tell by your homie tone that y'all ain't bout your business
Big homie always use to put me on he showed me how to whip a biscuit
I was fucking bitches cuffing bitches tell your girlfriend stop snitching uh
Got my Zoe's ready for
If I'm with it then they with it
Get get get get it
Mac 11 I'm gripping I just dropped me a new clip
Cross on me I'm dripping flood my diamonds with a new wrist
Sauce on me I'm dipping
I just fucked me a new bitch
I just mutt me a new bitch
Got me fucking with two bitches uhhhh
See the cloth that I'm cut from
All my uncles they was thugs
Mama use to work two jobs
Pops use to sell drugs
All my homies sold dope or robbed
Nasty got locked up oh lord
941 We gone make it out
I got hustlers in my blood
Trap game fucked up cool I got trapping in my blood I do
Rap game fucked up whoo I got rapping in my blood uhh!
Niggas talking god money boy you ain't rich enough
You ain't afraid of your dreams
Whoo whoo
Run that bihh back joe
Ahhhhhaaa
Written by:
Winder Polynice
Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
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