GRM Daily, CHIP, Kojo Funds — Calling
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Текст GRM Daily, CHIP, Kojo Funds — Calling
Yo, yo, yo, yo
Ayy, yo
Ayy, yo
That’s the money calling me, ayy, yo
The haters onto me, ayy, yo
But I’ll bet the drum go off, ayy, yo
I know them boy dem soft, ay, yo
I’m so fly like Wayne Carter
Tell dem boy dere I’m their farda
Your boy clipping your baby mudda
That one’s a sinner, now we got the gully Gaza
I tell them man park up
Don’t stall, the ting will spark up
Yo, I’ve got the .38 tucked
Don’t move or the ting will bust yeah, yeah
‘Cause ayy, they don’t wanna play no games
Rolling with the .38, them niggas won’t come my way
Ayy, they don’t wanna play no games
Rolling with the .38, them niggas won’t come my way
That’s the money calling me, ayy, yo
The haters onto me, ayy, yo
But I’ll bet the drum go off, ayy, yo
I know them boy dem soft, ay, yo
Chippy, yo, got the weed and blem
Judge, I’ve got me, I don’t need no leng
Get real money, that’s G-R-M
Redline true spitters from I dislike them
All fake friends fi get bun
See you flex online and wan’ come
If they don’t support when you’re grinding
Don’t ever let ’em ’round when you shining
Red leather seat, but mi gone again
Get pussy automatic, girl not stall again
See, my life, might book a flight last night
By morn, money call so mi gone again, see
Too much sauce for dem
Just a pree, dem a pree, me nuh know wamp to dem
Chippy on a verse, too cold like (brr)
But (brr), that’s the money call again, see
That’s the money calling me, ayy, yo
The haters onto me, ayy, yo
But I’ll bet the drum go off, ayy, yo
I know them boy dem soft, ay, yo
Like oh wow
Man I’m smoking this green, it’s so loud
And the amm packs are sold out
How you running these streets with no clout? Yo
Like oh my
Man, it’s Kojo Funds from the East side
Two loaded waps when we ride
Man, I’m high in the sky, I’m so fly like a kite
My heart’s cold, it’s blatant
Grew up in these streets, these pavements
I’m still running from Satan
But these boys still act the same
It’s blatant
Grew up in these streets, these pavements
I’m still running from Satan
But these boys still act the same
That’s the money calling me, ayy, yo
The haters onto me, ayy, yo
But I’ll bet the drum go off, ayy, yo
I know them boy dem soft, ay, yo
Ayy, yo
Ayy, yo
Ayy, yo
Ayy, yo
