Lil Gotit, Lil Keed and BIG30 - 6 Figures

(Damn, Dior)
(AJ back on that bullshit, slime)

Not my slime, we ridin' six figures
Ain't artistic, but you get the picture
One shot at yo' head, we leavin' you simple
Live life on the edge, ain't nothin' but the middle
Give 'em an inch and they take it a mile
Free Lil Rod, he took it to trial
I'm doin' numbers, boy, check yo' dial
Say my name in a song, boy, take it down
Take dope to your home, boy, get it done
My Rollie my twin, yeah, that's my round
We havin' hoes in L.A. and The Town
Yeah, these shooters smokin' more than a pound
Drop that bag on a ho, ain't got a mop
Bust it up and iced out my clock
Good sight, thirty round on a Glock (yeah)
YSL, Choppa Gang, we locked (Keed talk to 'em)

These niggas cap, they ain't droppin' no dot
Shit, I already preached yo' demeanor (yeah)
Nobody say nothin', he look like a cop (keep talkin' that shit)
Yeah, all in LA in that Rolls (yeah)
And we havin' hoes, suck you right out your sock (slime)
Yeah, gun a nigga down with that chop' (grrah)
I ain't got time for talk, choppa down with like it's soft (chop that shit down)
We put that shit on anywhere, off (woo)
Why? If she not a slut, she not my type (slut)
Stand on the dashboard of the Trackhawk (skrrt)
It liftin' up like a bike (vroom)
Got trappers and scammers and killers (scammers and killers)
Ridin' with me everyday
Them lil' bitches salty
Yeah, we slimey, ain't shady and shiesty (slatt)
This stick it hit like it Tyson (slatt)

Not my slime, we ridin' six figures
Ain't artistic, but, you get the picture
One shot at yo' head, we leavin' you simple
Live life on the edge, ain't nothin' but the middle
Give 'em an inch and they take it a mile
Free Lil Rod, he took it to trial
I'm doin' numbers, boy, check yo' dial
Say my name in a song, boy, take it down
Take dope to your home, boy, get it done
My Rollie my twin, yeah, that's my round
We havin' hoes in L.A. and The Town
Yeah, these shooters smokin' more than a pound
Drop that bag on a ho, ain't got a mop (mop)
Bust it up and iced out my clock (my clock)
Good sight, thirty round on a Glock (blrrrd)
YSL, Choppa Gang, we locked (blrrrd, Big Blrrrd, slatt)

Nineteen, stick with the coolant
Switch on the Glock, get off fast (blrrrd, blrrrd)
I kissed the curb in that wide body Cat, she grabbed the grass
Tap the gas, she shake ass (skrrt)
We treat Scatpack like a C-Class (a C-Class)
Foe'nem post picture with money
Then, my opps won't see no cash (no cash)
Try to trap on they ass
Every time we hit they block somethin' past (past)
Pressure, but, had to tail 'em
Tryna put some in a bag (in a bag)
From eight to eight can't mismatch ('match)
No savin' bae, don't try ask
Turned into opp pack in my hood
He my favorite strand, he a classic

Not my slime, we ridin' six figures (blrrrd)
Ain't gon' test it, but, you get the picture (blrrrd)
One shot at yo' head, we leavin' you simple (slatt, slatt)
Live life on the edge, ain't nothin' but the middle (blrrrd, blrrrd)
Give 'em an inch and they take it a mile
Free Lil Rod, he took it to trial (slatt)
I'm doin' numbers, boy, check yo' dial
Say my name in a song, boy, take it down (blrrrd)
Take dope to your home, boy, get it done
My Rollie my twin, yeah, that's my round
We havin' hoes in L.A. and The Town
Yeah, these shooters smokin' more than a pound
Drop that bag on a ho, ain't got a mop
Bust it up and iced out my clock
Good sight, thirty round on a Glock
YSL, Choppa Gang, we locked

Written by:
Arin Fields, Raqhid Jevon Render, Rodney Lamont Wright Jr., Samuel Alexander Jones IV, Semaja Z. Render

Publisher:
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Lyrics powered by Lyric Find