Shy Glizzy and 21 Savage - Slime-U-Out
Jefe on the track (yeah)
Hitmaka (yeah, yeah)
Young Jefe, homes
Million if they come and hit the spot, I got tunnel vision (ah)
My lil' hitter bustin' out the car, hit you with precision (bah, bah, bah)
Pray I don't have to send his ass to God so I hope he listen (oh, Lord)
Thirty shots I'm bustin' at the top, ain't no way I'm missin' (brr)
All my niggas choppin', gettin' money, let that glizzy out (get money)
Move my dawg to L.A. on the run, he let that fifty out (brr)
You ain't gettin' money, fuck them bitches, what you livin' for? (Oh)
Money makin' Jefe, but I slime you out, like Alpo (Jefe)
I wasn't gon' take your bitch but I guess she think I'm cooler (ooh)
I don't fuck with bitch-ass niggas, all these niggas 'round me shooters (yessir)
I rob a nigga for a hunnid, take it to the jeweler (ooh)
Bitch, this a Richard Mille, we don't rock no Franck Mullers (Richard Mille)
I fuck with niggas a lil', but I don't bring 'em where I stay (no, no)
I'm too big for my hood but I still be there everyday (Big Glizz)
Sometimes I gotta go slide just to let 'em know I'on't play (oh)
They think that I'm a rapper, I'll take their ass away (hahahaha)
I be with them choppas, bitch, send they ass them packages (woo)
Got a bitch who black and rich (oh), I think she immaculate (oh, oh)
These niggas be toppin' it (yo), they be on some cappin' shit (goddamn)
Got my Glock glued to my hip (goddamn), I don't do no lackin', bitch (goddamn, goddamn)
Million if they come and hit the spot, I got tunnel vision (ah)
My lil' hitter bustin' out the car, hit you with precision (bah, bah, bah)
Pray I don't have to send his ass to God so I hope he listen (oh, Lord)
Thirty shots I'm bustin' at the top, ain't no way I'm missin' (brr)
All my niggas choppin', gettin' money, let that glizzy out (yeah)
Move my dawg to L.A. on the run, he let that fifty out (oh, 21)
You ain't gettin' money, fuck them bitches, what you livin' for? (Oh)
Money makin' Jefe, but I slime you out, like Alpo (woo, woo, woo, 21, 21)
Switch on my Glock, they know how we rock
I ain't got no opps, all they ass popped
They say they gon' spin, I know that they not
Filled 'em up with hollows, he said they was hot
Double back again, we ain't done, we finna smack his friend
Rock out with my twin, speak on my brother, your shit get splat again
4L 'til the end, what they ridin' in? I think a Benz
Broad day, we spin, jump in the box and we gone in the wind
Everybody act like they got milk, shit, we got revenge
I don't ever walk inside no church 'cause I'm committin' sins
Keep on talkin', we gon' make a frown up outta that grin
Bitch-ass opp won't even get on live, he got shot in his chin
Million if they come and hit the spot, I got tunnel vision (ah)
My lil' hitter bustin' out the car, hit you with precision (bah, bah, bah)
Pray I don't have to send his ass to God so I hope he listen (oh, Lord)
Thirty shots I'm bustin' at the top, ain't no way I'm missin' (brr)
All my niggas choppin', gettin' money, let that glizzy out (get money)
Move my dawg to L.A. on the run, he let that fifty out (brr)
You ain't gettin' money, fuck them bitches, what you livin' for? (Oh)
Money makin' Jefe, but I slime you out, like Alpo (Jefe)
Written by:
Arthur Herzog Jr., Billie Holiday, Marquis King
Publisher:
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
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