Rob49 and Birdman - Woedy

Yeah, I'm slidin' expensive
I'm fuckin' two new group of bitches, I'm blendin' 'em in
Shit, my trappin' too real, I don't care what I do
I'll fly a bitch out to Miami
49, why you be flexin' so much?
Got more chains on than your ancestors
I done took a thousand losses, no cap
I ain't trippin', I'm seein' my mans win
Oh, you got all the money, I know
You fuckin' all the hoes, uh-huh
Heard you be sellin' dope, uh-uh
I be sellin' pounds, not rounds
Oh, that's bubb, this is za
He want smoke, put him in a blunt
He got good smoke in his lungs
Hunnid round drum on the gun

Niggas mad 'cause I'm richer than 'em
Like a ref, bro too official
Beat the block like Mannie Fresher
Beat the case like Johnnie Cochran
I was lowkey tryna minimize it
Rico Dtory like Speaker Knockerz
Drive the whip like Ricky Bobby
Keep it solid, don't tell nobody
Boomin' like the candy lady, woedy
I'm a real project baby, woedy
Snappin' like an alligator, woedy
And she gon' give that face up, woedy
Woedy, woedy, woedy, woedy
Woedy, woedy, woedy, woedy

Yeah, baddie or not
If you ain't fuckin' tonight, then I'm kickin' you out, yeah
Cousin slingin' that Vaseline, treat the burglar house like a gold mine
I ain't even have no house, no cap, I was puttin' my shit at my dawg house
And I wasn't trippin', cousin, know it took time to get my own spot

Yeah, I'm slidin' expensive
I'm fuckin' two new group of bitches, I'm blendin' 'em in
Shit, my trappin' too real, I don't care what I do
I'll fly a bitch out to Miami
49, why you be flexin' so much?
Got more chains on than your ancestors
I done took a thousand losses, no cap
I ain't trippin', I'm seein' my mans win
Oh, you got all the money, I know
You fuckin' all the hoes, uh-huh
Heard you be sellin' dope, uh-uh
I be sellin' pounds, not rounds
Oh, that's bubb, this is za
He want smoke, put him in a blunt
He got good smoke in his lungs
Hunnid round drum on the gun

Bullet holes like savage nem
Sellin' weed at my mamma crib
Paint her face like super set
How you lovin' this goofy nigga?
You ain't do what I think you did
50 Cent, she fuck many men
Keep my heat, I don't care what weather
Roaches all in my granny crib
I'ma fuck 'cause I ain't her friend
Real money, I bait a bitch
No cap, I'll buy a ho
Fly 'em back on a private jet
Real P like pot and pan
Niggas sweeter then cotton candy
Money taller then K Durant
Trap house jumpin' like Ja Morant
He been sellin' that Ku Klux Klan
And he sellin' that vulture pack
I guess he don't play with thrax
He fell off he still ain't back
I'ma press this engine until it bust
I'm tryna kill this bitch
I feel like a 6 of James Harden, I'm on my Philly shit

Yeah, I'm slidin' expensive
I'm fuckin' two new group of bitches, I'm blendin' 'em in
Shit, my trappin' too real, I don't care what I do
I'll fly a bitch out to Miami
49, why you be flexin' so much?
Got more chains on than your ancestors
I done took a thousand losses, no cap
I ain't trippin', I'm seein' my mans win
Oh, you got all the money, I know
You fuckin' all the hoes, uh-huh
Heard you be sellin' dope, uh-uh
I be sellin' pounds, not rounds
Oh, that's bubb, this is za
He want smoke, put him in a blunt
He got good smoke in his lungs
Hunnid round drum on the gun

(Real rich nigga, shit, Stunnaman, that way)

Written by:
Robert Thomas, Raphael Oliveira, Ronan Willey, Bryan Williams

Publisher:
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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