Beezy Youngin - Splurge Beezy
Play wit dat youngin', dat nigga gone eatI'm wit my niggas and they like to creep
I run dem racks up to my knees
Don't give a fuck about you and yo team
Thanksgiving gone, I'm still 'bout to feast
Pass me dat turkey, dat ham, dat stuffing
A nigga diss me, on god I'm bussin'
Ain't got time to talk dis ain't for discussion
I'm from da Beezy, no it ain't easy
Wild nigga and my head real peezy
I'm gettin' money each and every season
Dick ya hoe down at da Four Seasons
Can't trust these niggas I know dey be schemin
So I gotta ride round wit a blick
And you know I ride round in a Vic
I done came a long way from da bricks
My niggas juggin' and dey hittin' licks; beat dat pack out, CDV shit
Bring dem racks out, I don't play tennis and imma do dis shit here till I'm finished
And imma keep doin' dis till dey stop me, don't fuck wit him he a carbon copy
Dat nigga sayin' he fuck wit me, but on da low I know dat nigga be watchin'
My third eye open, no Illuminati
No blindfold, I see everything
And I ain't talmbout Birdbox
I'm from a block where da birds flock
Birds of a feather we flock together
So I'm steppin' then my niggas steppin'
And dats da code dat we live by
And dats da same code imma die by
And I can't trust a hoe boy I spot a flip a mile
Drop dat neck and then I'm gone ride away
For dem racks you know that I'm wide awake
Try to jack, bitch you die today
Get to slingin' dis bitch like I'm Doctor J
Like I played for da 76ers
Like I played out in Philly
Grindin' for a milticket, uh
And I'm still in da trenches, posted up wit my niggas
We goin' up like a wheelie, nah
We goin' up like da ceiling
I'm just gone load up da strap, if a nigga get dat feeling, uh
Dat a nigga wanna test me, I'll send his pussy ass to Heaven
Written by:
Davon Amaker
Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
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