Lyrics:
J'écoute du Tom Browne dans ma chambre solo
Toujours du jazz dans les enceintes
C'est trop pas une compétition my g
Mais pour moi gagner, sa reste
fuckers can't keep up with me
P R E G O A T
I'm a pre goat but these niggas can't see
Look alive when I'm on your feed
Look alive when I pull up for three
sais que dans mon équipe
Moi y'a que des G
Et ma meuf me dit qu'elle kiffe trop
Toutes mes mélodies
J'suis high Aqua dans la caisse me fait changer de
J'saute sur le beat comme Jack Jack
Je compte des billets, des racks racks
Tu dors debout, ouais tu lack lack
Et comme un G.O.A.T. j'suis back back
jeep
Know you need that
Sold out them hats with the team
They believe that do they really love him?
Why the fuck is that a question
Couple G's off a free
‘cause he let’em kill Shawn, like it’s heaven for a g
Yeah)
I lost my cousin to the streets, R.I.P.
Wanna cry, but inside they won’t let a n***a be
What
I said it's cool
2 G's in a blunt, you know I'll do it
And every word I speak, you know it's true
You been tryna see wassup with me
Better figure out
Immer noch Berliner Luft
Sind im Rausch nie genug
Hören Songs im Loop
Retro aus den Nineties
Juicy läuft von B I G
Vintage oversize Jeans
Night life
My name is Fleeky B-A-N-G-O-A-T
Big dirty and team yelllin'
I'm twenty-two but savage, yeah
My name is Tray B (ah-yeah)
I'm Mr. Fuckin' crazy
now this one dedicate fi ears
君の耳に今1番心地良いsound お届け
alright let's go
G.O.T.C.H.A
いつものスタンス
変わらないバランス
後にも先にもないくらいスマイル
でお届けしちゃうアナタのmeワタシのyou
まとめてgroove
no more booty calls, you gotta jack off
It's me and Karol G, we let them racks talk
Don't run up on us, 'cause they lettin' the MACs off
(Rrr)
[Chorus (SPM f/ Low-G)]
Thuuuuuuuuuug Girl , (Thug Girl)
Thug Girl
Thug Girl
Thug Girl
Thuuuuuuuuuug Girl , (Thug Girl)
Girl Girl , Girl Girl
they was alive
Me, Franklin and Grant, we been ridin' since eighty-five
And they don't die they just multiply like our g's
Got me FUCKED up, I stay
naw
Haters can't see us
Connect Gang we the G'est nigga
Countless calls and countless charges
Street niggas makin' blunts out of Cuban cigars
Big
(Killa C)
I got a g-l-o-see-k and I ain't even fillin Yo dome
Me and lil mark we puttin buckshots through Yo home
You run up quick you stupid bitch you
You want to crank up your war
Bitch come fuck with me
I got some real g's and then some g's that
I teach them niggas
And lay low off in cacilac
Off in
went
Push em back, Push em back, way back, way back
B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E
And the death of a cheerleader
Takes me by surprise
How the death
Cali's in the building we collectin' the rent
We at the bar takin' shots like 50 Cent
(G-G-G-G-G) Them niggas is nice, don't think twice
I'm so cold, I
the dead dog I stuffed with G's
Tell the cops that he died from fleas
That shit was well planned, but I know when it happens
When the shit hits
Waltz across Texas with you in my arms
D7 G
I could waltz across Texas with you
G
me and violence connect and we have our own personal language
[ chorus ]
Money - gimme dat
Power - g-gimme dat
Guns - gimme dat
Freedom - g-gimme dat
flawless
Fuck all that other
Bury yo brother
Leave yo family mad at the fact the Mobb took me under.
Bash 'em other sucka, likely struck wit G's
[B.G.]
Damn, it's hard, a baby gangsta is strugglin
The 9-5 done hit, it's time for me to start hustlin
I gotta get my serve on, them hoes look at me
Gangsta took you to war
Off wit yo head G
Don't ever underestimate
The 40 is off
Then you roll down for murder
And my game is cold
Situation bout this
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