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why g, pressa, k money & burna bandz - no adlibs lyrics

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[intro: pressa]
(versace)
yeah
grrah, grrah, grrah, grrah
grrah, grrah, grrah, grrah
grrah, grrah, grrah

[verse 1: pressa]
a hundred deep, all in the trench, don’t need another n_gga block
i sell a brick of cocaine before i saw my brother opp
my opps, they keep on cl!ckin’ up, that means more people to get shot
i got money on my head, don’t know how much, but it’s a lot
check the drip, double c, i’m a crip, i like chanel
i can’t sit, i can’t chill, i got homies still in jail
i tell [?] to spin your block, he look for someone he had to k!ll
why she think he a gangster? he just rollin’ off a pill (ayy)

[verse 2: k money]
why the f_ck opps don’t never be around?
why the f_ck rondo can’t get no rebound?
and we gon’ shoot sh_t up in the t town
and we gon’ shoot sh_t up in the park
and you know we’ll do it in the day, in the dark
and he ain’t gon’ slide ’cause he ain’t got heart
i’m smokin’ on dog, yeah, he ain’t smart
i’m smokin’ on dog, he should’ve been smart like haha
opps got me f_cked up
i wear this burberry upside down and
i put this lv to ground
and if he an opp, he ain’t safe around me
smokin’ this ____ by the pound
free ____, he ain’t get that bail
k!lled so much n_ggas that i’m goin’ to h_ll
i kept on shootin’ right after he fell
[verse 3: why g]
how i slap a little n_gga make it look like wish him well
i’ma walk him down and take his top, i’ll do it by myself
i’m creepin’ in the shadow, jumpin’ out the bushes lookin’ stealth
compact gon’ look like an elf, louis vuitton on that boy, he a belt
look like poutine the way his skin melt
i can tell that he dead the way that he fell
i don’t know where he dropped, could be heaven or h_ll
eight hundred dollars for my ginger ale
jamaican b_tch eat my d_ck like it’s oxtail
can’t whip this stuff up on no regular scale
and i gotta keep goin’, haters want me to fail
this [?] that i got, man can’t get it off grailed

[verse 4: burna bandz]
gotta keep goin’, haters want me to fail
a black [?] designer, not a regular sale
big glock touch you like r kel
big glock kiss you, i won’t tell
crodie know how to shoot, but he can’t spell
sometime [?], you just gotta smell
why he hit my name? know i ring bell
won’t come through, drop a whole lotta sh_lls
all this ice on my neck and wrist can’t melt
it’s just to numb the pain that i felt
shooters, they ride and die, they crash out
bag on a sale, let’s go cash out
i had my way in the traphouse
havin’ my way with this rap now
see, my wrist is flooded now
they hopin’ i see a drought

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