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yo gotti, est gee & cmg the label – fa fa fa كلمات اغاني

[intro]
(ayy, who that? john gotitt)

[verse 1: yo gotti & est gee]
trap beat still doing numbers
big gotti still got runners
twenty years straight no fumbles
wildlife n_gga from the jungle
n_gga too small to be c_cky (look)
and, i’m too big to be humble

[verse 2: est gee]
yeah, i was okay, rich selling thunder
too much, can’t tuck it i’m punchin’ (on go)
i ain’t get no game from my uncles (uh_uh)
so, i ain’t show em’ no love on the numbers (f_ck ’em)
sh_t, they hated my pops
play like it’s love ’cause i’m up, but it’s not
first in the city put switch on a glock
first n_gga paid five figures a drop
keep a good grip when you hittin’, it’s hot
put one on top and then hop out the car with that—

[chorus: est gee]
fa_fa_fa_fa_fa
fa_fa_fa_fa_fa
[verse 3: yo gotti]
more than twin flames hittin’ that car (flat)
i’ll make a n_gga call for allah (on god)
i’m a trap n_gga, babe, i’m a star (i am)
when i say go bar for bar (sticks)
see, that’s a hundred thousand xanax bars (bars)
now, i could buy it on a amex card
ain’t no receipt on a pack (pack)
ain’t no bringin’ this sh_t back (n_gga)
f_ck around and get flapped (n_gga)

[chorus: yo gotti]
fa_fa_fa_fa_fa
fa_fa_fa_fa_fa

[verse 4: yo gotti]
i got these sticks in the rental
this b_tch in the car she too sentimental
i got my dawg in my car, and he f_ck with the opps, he playin’ the middle
oh, he thinkin’ he slime, i’m three steps ahead, he don’t even know it
i told him, “i need some gas,” i get out, then pump it, they pull up, and blow it (frrah)
i was chilling in turks, my n_gga on percs, he talkin’ ’bout k!llin’ (k!llin’)
i’m tryna exit up the streets, this sh_t gotta ceilin’, i’m thinking ’bout billions (’bout billions)
i just talked to drew findling, they finna free doggy you don’t know the feelin’
yeah, you don’t know the feelin’, they lock up ya partner, you runnin’ up millions (d_mn)
yeah, i just jumped off the island, i’m back on a tour
jump off the tour, and i’m back in the trap
jump out the trap, and go up to the office
put down the strap, go through some offers
pick up my strap, and i’m back at the door (yeah)
phone on private, ain’t dropping my lo’ (my lo’)
callin’ the label, they late on our paper
we treatin’ this sh_t like we still sellin’ dope
brand new ferrari, i ordered it (skrrt)
asian masseuse, imported it (‘ported it)
i’m on the side, my n_ggas on, so, it they get on yo’ ass, i’m supportin’ it
i’m too big for the bullsh_t, i already know it (i know it)
i know better, but, i ignore it
i’m not a rapper i’m a poet
(what am i?) street n_gga, drug lord (gotti)
[outro: yo gotti]
let the beat breathe
ayy, let the beat breathe on these p_ssies
just vibe out, flex, know what i’m sayin’?
first hundred k, i remember (frrt)
first seven figures, i remember (frrt)
first ak, i remember (fah)
it was cold day in december
first n_gga felt that— (uh), first n_gga felt this fire
first n_gga—
first n_ggas y’all let die (p_ssies)

- yo gotti est gee cmg the label

كلمات أغنية عشوائية

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