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G Herbo

Herbert Wright III (born October 8, 1995), better known by his stage name G Herbo (formerly known as Lil Herb) is an American rapper and songwriter from Chicago, Illinois. Herb is signed to Machine Entertainment Group. He has released the mixtapes Welcome to Fazoland (2014), Pistol P Project (2014), Ballin Like I'm Kobe (2015), and Strictly 4 My Fans (2016). His studio albums are his debut Humble Beast (2017) and, with Southside of 808 Mafia, Swervo (2018), his first major release through Epic Records. more »

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(Zaytoven)

Where would I be without rap? Nobody really knows
Me and Greg was sharin' clothes, but we wasn't really bros
We was tryna impress them hoes, kept us on our toes
I had twenty-five in high school, like I'm Derrick Rose
I had a Glock when I met Pistol P, that's on my soul
Hat always cocked back to the left 'cause I grew up with the moes
And I was thuggin' hard with shawty like I'm one of the 4s
I had some shootouts with my bronem, I had to give it and go
Shit got hot, we start swapping most of 'em
Still got one of the old ones though
Might hang that bitch in a frame for show
That's the one that my big bro used to throw
We ain't learn how to blow in no range, no
Pop out, flame out the Wrangler door
Might could've blew out my brains, though
Niggas must ain't got no aim no more
Niggas left me in the rain some more
I found some gold in the rainbow, though
They say I got money and changed the most
Please don't forget I'm still dangerous, though
Still'll walk up on a stranger, though
Gangster shit run in my veins for sure
I wanna change 'em, though
Know how to channel my anger, though
Oh, we ain't gone save 'em, no
Where his hood at? We gon' name him, though
Oh, yeah, I'm famous, so?
None of my killers want payment, though
Oh, we ain't 'posed to be bangin', no
Me and my niggas, we hangin', though
Oh, I don't wanna be slangin' dope
This pistol don't ever stop rangin', though

Ayy, I don't panic (for what?)
Whips be panoramic (G Herbo)
I was sellin' dope at my granny's (oh my grandma)
Xanny's, yeah, I need a Grammy, oh
Need another big ass mansion, uh
Big yard, big ass hammock, uh
Wrist all wet, Atlantic
Bitch, it's big bucks, no whammies, uh
My bitch need attention, she bad as f*ck
And she got lips like Angela
You know a young nigga done ran it up
Damn, I could buy her a phantom, huh?
Where that come from? That was random, huh?
Die for respect, I demand it
I was dead broke, now I'm rich, can't stand it (ayy)
Tell me why niggas hate Randy

G Herbo, f*ck niggas can't stand me, huh
Worth a couple mil', I'm branded, uh
Special nigga 'cause I'm left handed, huh
Niggas namin' shit, I had it
I ran through that sack like I must've forgot it
I helped niggas out when I should've bought a Patek
They sneak diss a lot, but they don't want no static
You savages should be no rumor, you ratted
I bought my first pipe, cuzzo said I could have it
At G Fazo house, me and Farro in the attic
If Fazo was here, used to sit and imagine
Then pull on they block just to shoot what we averagin'
Ladders and horses and carriages, you know we clappin' shit
Opps, we embarrass 'em, ayy
We ain't gon' hop out no caravan, ayy
Foenem might fire up yo' cameraman, ayy
Real street niggas I represent
Long live Bapo and Hellabandz
Ain't nothin' but trappers and bappers in here
Who the f*ck let all these rappers in? (F*ck nigga)
We ain't with none of that chitchat, uh-uh
You ain't never hear no click-clack
Shawty 'n' 'em ready to kidnap somethin'
Send his arm home in a gift wrap for 'em
Push a nigga shit back some
Homie 'n' 'em might want some get-back for 'em (for real)
We finna slide tonight, heard his homie 'n' 'em tryna have a kickback for 'em (for real)
Broski the driver, got my window rolled down in the rear back some (some)
Just havin' fun, that's the type of shit I did, I was young (G Herbo)
I shed a tear for my young, nigga, I kill for my son (you know that)
And before I met him, I was numb
Let a nigga feel my drum
A lot of niggas think I'm dumb
I'ma just let 'em think what they want
They probably think I'm a punk (what?)
Niggas probably really think I ain't gon' dump
I'm the type to let 'em front
Leave a nigga ass all in Nieman slumped, uh
After I feed a nigga hollow tips, I need a blunt
Sick and tired of smokin' all this Gelato, shit, I need some Runtz
Finna get another 150 charm real quick, I need a font (ayy, ayy)
Forty thousand go out every first of the month (ayy, ayy)
Just for livin', always been that nigga, so you never could front
Just be consistent
Pulled up on some flexin' shit, like, "Yeah, bitch, we did it"
Add up these digits
Naw, not that, that's just a lil' million
Uh, uh

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