BL Lucky and Big Amp - Run It Up

A hundred thousand ain't enough nigga run it up
Every time you bump into me bet my pockets stuffed
Designer jeans in the seams got the semi tucked
I be floating through traffic like I'm in a rush
Niggas hating perpetrating like they one of us
But he got lost in the sauce he wasn't keeping up
They say the mail moving slow bring it on a bus
I pack two fifty in a duffle when I'm reing up
Shit he want to fall in love I'm trying to send it where she living at
Dead ass wrong niggas trapping on the internet
Real trap nigga spend my last watch how I get it back
Wipe behind your ears you feel that shit nigga that's Similac
My nigga sent the wrong damn kind we got to send it back
Low key with the motion lil loapy they ain't picture that
Meet me out west I show you niggas how I really wrap
My neck worth a brick and I ain't even fucking selling that
Kicking off racks for the squares watch them run them back
If twelve hit the lights drive this Honda like I'm in a cat
Get options in my trap yeah you know I'm juging this and that
Lil Louie lil Gucci lil Prada like to mix and match
Nigga fell off now he treat me like the bad guy
You cut your own hand we was eating you was mob tied
Now you on the net sharing gossip with the small fries
Ain't no cap in my raps I'm in the coupe with the frog eyes
I left that bitch on red that nigga think that hoe a dime
Wear my jewelry everywhere what the fuck I look like wasting shine
Got the zips by the bundle mama I'm still on the grind
Feeling like Curry moving thirties while he stuck off in his prime
I done jumped up in the game I'm in the trap they know I'm winning aye
Sell it by the eighth come get you two they go for fifty bae
Thank the trap god they coming through yeah that's my nigga there
Can't send them through the air then we gone stuff them in a rental aye
Front door service really got them off the interstate
Get stopped with them bricks make a nigga hyperventilate
See the K-9 unit then you know I'm hopping in the lake
Ain't no beating that Tay-K you better do the race
I'm cold in that bowl act a fool with the sixty twos
Tre five quarters of the drizzy that's a pair of shoes
Phone always ringing of the hook like I'm selling blues
Turned an eight ball to a stack like we're playing pool
Brodie kicked my first ten and I was praying on a fifty pack
Your bowls ain't really selling then you probably need to give them back
Real trap nigga ask my mama if I'm living that
Got some bags on the rope got some niggas that will mail them back
See my nigga Dre was trapping while the feds watching
Kicked seventeen five call that dead stocking
Me and your main lil squeeze got the bed rocking
Out the loop in a coupe but we really chopping

Written by:
Anthony Green, Dshon Early

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

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