Drop Dead (feat. Yung Hust)
Tino Bandz
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Ayy, Baby lookin real pretty With them pretty titties Let her take a trip with me And watch me make 50 Every nigga that I'm with Gucci ain't no snakes With me Poppin niggas since the 8th grade Boy don't play with me Don't make me get the moppin Niggas with my dreadheads I help Brody count 200 with my bare hands I'm a bad influence all my hoes pop meds I got work that'll make yo fiends drop Dead Never lackin I keep lookin out my rearview He said it's on when he see me I'm like bitch who Glock 30 Kinda dirty but this bitch new I ain't got the blik for show mine gettin Used I done made ten juggin in these black ones And I done robbed a lot of niggas with these big guns I know you hate the fact You broke and my life fun Keep a loaf of bread on me nigga no crumbs Pay that check Brody show you how to cook It up When I get signed I'm goin to buy a Bently Truck I ain't graduate from school cause I ain't Give a f*ck You blowin all this money How and you don't stack enough Damn my phone goin dead I ain't got no charger Lil bro the scam goat he done scammed his barber Told him if they want me dead They gotta step harder After I hit this nigga bitch I'm fuckin his daughter This bookie loud I'm smokin on I gotta turn it down I ain't smokin out the quarter Brody passed the pound Why this pussy nigga on the south He not allowed around Caught the opps with a group of niggas Flamed the whole crowd Niggas jumpers whack like they Charles Barkley Niggas said he need some work well come and Cop it off me I can't show these niggas Nothin cause they Always copy Twenty thousand all Dubs Got me walkin sloppy Yung Hust in this bitch matter of fact, Big Hust Everybody know Hust got the trap jumpin And you ain't really gettin money unless You stack somethin A lot of bad Bitches in here I'm tryna smack Somethin And don't call my Phone unless you wanna buy Somethin I got cocaine testers You wanna try somethin Feds keep askin questions I don't know nothin Put some money on your head The whole south comin He had a gun and died with that Bitch while he was runnin Just took a Adderall now I'm in a good mood I was sellin Trimadols while your ass was in school Fuckin bad bitches raw even though it ain't cool Thirteen thousand, Thirteen hours Yeah it's time to snooze Win, win, win, I don't know I feel the lose Run off with a quarter could've built a brick fool Five traps every year got the feds confused Oh, you ain't hear about your bitch? Yeah she like to choose That nigga just came home, how he take her from you Suwoo but my pocket stuffed with nothin but blues Rob Who take what You gon make the news Took the investigators a whole hour to find his shoes Yeah that's what that choppa do So much money on your head They kill your mama too Yeah, your baby mama too Whole face gone ain't nothin a doctor could do Oh you in niggas paperwork Ain't no talkin to you That little ass bag nah I ain't coppin from you When I was fucked up broke Was I walkin with you Or matter of fact when I was Down and out where was you Don't talk that money shit boy I'll embarrass you You ain't bought that action ain't nobody scared of you If you show me loyalty I'll cherish you No catchin up to me I'll always be ahead of you Catch Up
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"Drop Dead (feat. Yung Hust) Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 5 Jun 2024. <https://www.lyrics.com/lyric-lf/13584260/Tino+Bandz/Drop+Dead+%28feat.+Yung+Hust%29>.
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