Chief Keef and Ballout - Rawlings

DP on the beat
Smokes, Glo
Blood gang man, all folks know how we rockin' man
Glo gang or no gang man
Stupid blunts man, four-wheel drive, man, stupid kush
So motherfucking high right now, man
Motherfucking Mansion, man, got all these eights
I'on know where the fuck I'm at man, feel me?
All type of whips outside, ey
M6's all types of shit

Ay, ay
Aye bally
Aye aye, pass me the rolls
Aye, so I can ball
Bitches already know that we ballin'
I'm at the Mardi Gras, in New Orleans
Choppas out, get them boys
Got them dogs out, dogs sniff
Run around your kitchen, where your shit at?
Send my locksmith at yo' door
Semi Glock catch yo' folks
See they Glo, we posted on the Glo block
With big ass poles

Brought the Glo block out, no suburbs
In my mansion bitch, you never heard
Where it's at? You never know
Try to follow me, I on blow
I can be driving, still got the pipe
Be driving and I still take your life
Pull up on your bitch, I'm still taking flight, ey
I'm off the Tooka and I'm still getting high
And higher aye
Waitin' for the days to go by, and byer aye
Only thing that matter is the money aye
Wake up in the morning yawning aye, gettin' money
Fucking hunnits, fucking thots
Fuck niggas, fuck up your party, up your party
Turn it to a pool party
Almighty you admiring

In my 290
Catch you, you a body
Under him, aye, what was wrong with him?
I don't know 'cause I'm bipolar
When he shoot, he shoot headshots
Had yo' pipe up, catch you, rawlings
Nigga we don't carry holsters
Ride with it in our laps, ain't got time for that chitter chat
Fuck nigga got me, I'ma get 'em back
This choppa break a nigga back

Written by:
Don Paschall, Keith Cozart

Publisher:
Lyrics © The Administration MP, Inc., Songtrust Ave

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