Lil Eazzyy - Freestyle

(Laykx)
Ayy, Redboi shit, you know what the fuck goin' on, man
Ayy, 2020 takeover, man
You know what the fuck goin' on
Y'all niggas be squealin' to the jakes
Let's do it

Off of the Wock' in a coma we in a rover
Four in the back with the toaster
Meiro he grippin' that .30 (grrah, grrah, grrah)
We slappin' the stick and you do what we say, no controlla
I'm comin' over to fuck
You comin' over, she tell you she want you to hold her
My niggas love to get over (ayy)
You got the racks and my niggas pull up like a chauffeur
I'ma go get me a Bentley
Bb on the buckle, or maybe just throw on the Fendi
Niggas, they filled up with envy (ayy)
If you got a problem it's fifty rounds up in this semi
You wanna tweak? (Tweak)
I'll even call sis, and this be your last night like you Diddy (grrah)
It can get tricky
When bullets start flyin', you better get down or get with me
Lv be givin' me powers
Dust off the belt, this some jiggas got me up for hours
I just might drop me a Xanny (Xanny)
Let it dissolve, that shit kinda taste a lil' sour (sour)
I'm high, I'm up with the towers
Think that's your bitch? Well, nigga, I think that it's ours
.30 clip shoot us a movie
Talk on the net but ain't show, nigga, you is a coward
Two fake accounts gettin' busy (busy)
Go and load up at the bank, yeah, my niggas they with me (they with me)
Most of them bitches be bustin' (they bustin')
Two for the twenty, but I don't know, you seemin' iffy
I'ma have K2 go zoo him for all of his racks
I'm the man so I'm thinkin' I'm 50
Trust me my niggas get sitchy
Got me a navy, so I got a Glock with a switchy
Coupe switchin' (skrrt)
Where I leave my cup? I think my Act' missin'
Probably left it right next to my Wock', man, I be yack sippin'
Run off with the pack and bitch it's fuck you, I be pack flippin' (fuck you)
All your racks missin' K2 wiped them off, we ain't splittin' (ayy, ayy ,ayy)
Reckless in the buildin', everybody stop and stare (they stop and stare)
All this money now your bitch all under me, like underwear (underwear)
All these fake ass fuckin' rappers, time to pull a fuckin' chair
Like y'all ain't livin' what y'all rappin', y'all don't even fuckin' care
Since a shorty we been trappin', we ain't have no shit to wear (to wear)
Now it's Gucci on my collar but it's hate all in the air
Like when you make it out the mud you got no choice, you gotta share
Y'all weren't with me from the jump, y'all said my music wasn't clear (bitch)
Groupie bitch, she hit my phone and she get blew when I don't answer
Yeah, I tote the SIG, you want some smoke, we give you cancer (boom)
Exotic bowls from Carlos only smoke exotic dancers
Your bitch we ran her, kicked her out, we got no manners
Late nights we was posted we was loaded with them .40 cals
We got forty down, we give no zip and folk gon' blow him down
Cap been chasin' sacks since we was jits, no, he ain't stoppin' now
With Moe, he in the back, he brought the Xannies now I'm slowin' down
Bitch I'm Balenci' steppin' uh
And I still tote my weapon (ayy)
We got bullets send you to the master in less than a second
Pull up on his block and make him freeze, we got that nigga guessin'
Cock it back lil' bro, he get to sweatin', give his ass eleven
Trackhawk get to shreddin', niggas solid, they ain't never tellin' (never)
I can't get a time out from the money, I ain't never restin'
Eazzyy where you headin'? To the top while all you niggas flexin' (flexin')
I don't do the textin', if it's beef I hope you catch a blessin' (Ayy)

Written by:
Eric Allen

Publisher:
Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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