Yella Beezy, NLE Choppa — Hittas

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Текст Yella Beezy, NLE Choppa — Hittas

[Intro:]
Mmh, yeah
CashMoneyAP
Ayy, NLE
Top shotta
Top shotta, yeah, yeah
Ayy

[NLE Choppa:]
Dope boy swag, Air Force 1’s with a white tee (A white tee, yeah)
I’m clutching Glocks, pussy nigga, ain’t no fighting (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
I crossed a nigga on a lick, yeah, I’m shiesty
I’m fucking on a nigga bitch, yeah, I’m piping
If I see an opp then I’m dumping my chopper
I’ma hit him with fifty, he don’t need a doctor
When I see me a Perc’, bitch, you know I’ma pop it
And just like a baby, sip out the bottle
I’m gone off these drugs, I know I don’t need it
I’m sippin’ on yellow, they calling me Beezy
She sucking my dick and I love when she please me
Fucked her with her friend, they double teaming
I’m on Mary Jane and Percy Jackson
I need to slow down on these drugs, think that I’m an addict
We livin’ this murder, you know we not capping
And just like the cable, we bringing the static
I’m stretching these niggas, they call me elastic
Cut him into half like I’m doing a fraction (Yeah, yeah)
Ain’t no squares in my circle, bitch, I’m strapped like I’m Urkel
If he dissing on me, swear to God I’ma hurt him
I put him in the dirt while I’m rocking some Birkins
And bitch, I’m a pimp, every ho ’round me working
Money turned clean, it was too damn dirty
Keep me a thirty like Stephen Curry
The opp say he gon’ kill me, nigga, I ain’t worried
Up my Glock, then shoot it in a hurry

[Yella Beezy:]
Ayy, I got niggas, they gon’ work it, they’ll hit you, hey, hey
And all my niggas, they gon’ up it off the dribble, hey, hey
And I got pistols that go pop pop, knock your gristle, hey, hey
And I won’t miss you, nah, nah, nah, nah, I won’t miss you, hey, hey
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters (I got hitters)
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters (I got hitters)
I got niggas that kill for me off the dribble (Off the dribble)
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters (I got hitters)

Oh, oh, I got that, hey
Tell me how the fuck a nigga gon’ carry pistols
And a nigga pop that, you ain’t pop back? Yeah
Real live shooter would’ve shot back, hey
Cop killer, booty knock your top back, hey
That’s a ho tryna ride my jock strap, ayy
Ate the nut out my gut when I got back, ayy
Gave a nigga that back so I rocked that, yeah
Real diamonds, nigga, go and rock that, ayy
Ball hard, ball hard, pop that tag
Would’ve scored forty pounds when I bought my shag
Ayy, come on with it
You want that work, then come on, get it
Nigga talkin’ ’bout bags, say I’m all in it
You ain’t gotta worry, baby, I’ma come on with it
Chase that sack on my own mission
Oldhead niggas say I don’t listen
My daddy always told me keep the firearm with me
If a nigga play crazy, I’ma fire on a nigga
I drop that bag, they gon’ kill you off the dribble
Say you make me mad, make that funk, I off a nigga
Yeah, for them racks, they gon’ come pop a nigga
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters (I got hitters)

Ayy, I got niggas, they gon’ work it, they’ll hit you, hey, hey
And all my niggas, they gon’ up it off the dribble, hey, hey
And I got pistols that go pop pop, knock your gristle, hey, hey
And I won’t miss you, nah, nah, nah, nah, I won’t miss you, hey, hey
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters (I got hitters)
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters (I got hitters)
I got niggas that kill for me off the dribble (Off the dribble)
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters (I got hitters)