Lou Gram, Icewear Vezzo and BabyTron - Drank Wars

Ayy
Me and Lou in here shiftin' gears
Personal driver, I ain't had to catch a Lyft in years
Call the .223s Mike Tyson, they done bit his ear
11:11, cuddy wish that a hundred bricks appear
Gunsmoke and zotti, how the fuck my vision crystal clear?
I want Quagen, I want Wocky, you still sippin' beer
Everybody actin' weird, I keep a couple pistols near
Wake and bake, it's only right I twist some grits and jam
You would post your life on Instagram thinkin' we give a damn
I don't do the overnight drops, nah, this some instant bands
This an instant scam, why is you on finsta, man?
Crack the seal and turn my water into Kool-Aid
It must be April Fools' Day, 'cause who lame?
Next year my ice age like every month a new chain
You ain't even ran a check up, so how your shoes stink?
I cannot complain about a thing, I seen a new day
You would probably think we playin' games, I pulled up two K's
F&N a Five-seveN, Kapitals a two-eight
Dubs in the bank, but you know I got a blue safe
Loosie or Havana, I don't fuck with joints
You doin' bullshit, really, what's the point?
Caught him gettin' off of Southfield and now he stuck on Joy
Drank put me straight on my ass, the double cup off 'roids

Drank is how I got rich, I ain't touch no boy
Count up my first and got paranoid
Say he caught him one, I don't know, call him Soulja Boy
My bitch say when it come to drank, I go overboard
Rick Owens cargos cost me 'bout eleven hundred
Niggas playin' with the juice, seal cracked, I don't want it
Stuntin' with that lil'-ass Cuban, put a piece on it (lame)
Your girl fuck with me, want her ass, put a leash on it
Sorry, I was trappin', you only known for rappin'
If the conversation 'bout money, I'm interested
Doin' a dollar in the Benz, blowin' every light on Gratiot
Only if you know I spend brick fare on this fashion
I got a G for every bump on your face (bitch)
Big gut, can't let a cup go to waste (sip it)
Instagram make you think you up when you ain't (nah)
Plottin' on Lou, better play it safe (Lou Gram)

Yeah, dude ain't uppin' dog shit 'cause he owe some (nigga owe one)
Hate when niggas play they role and they told somethin'
New Rollie, big stone cost a whole hundred (yeah)
Hit the plug up and by the mornin', got a load comin' (got a load comin')
Real shifter, run it up, we got hella flavors (flavors)
So much motherfuckin' money, I can sell the paper (bitch)
Audemars eighty racks, got the bezel tapered
Real street nigga, had an M before I met a label (for real, though)
Ten and oh with these cards, check the scoreboard (on God)
Icy water on my arm, I can snowboard (uh-huh, yeah)
Blue Forgis on the Don, paid the low for 'em
Every car I post, them bitches mine, ain't no note on 'em (bitch)

Written by:
John Michael Philippou, James Johnson, Chivez Smith

Publisher:
Lyrics © EMPIRE PUBLISHING

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