Lyrics:
and falsty knives
That blow you clear out of sight
You're wit' all your might
Your conscious is stayin' by
You all in that sacrifice
I'm going off
Quentin on lock
But I two'd up that ghost
I stack two floors that loaf
I be floor seats by that coach
I be fight seats by that rope
Lately so sick I could
Two cups 'cause I'm gettin' too fucked up
I'm strapped up, I'm too much for you poo butts
Do too much, then your ass gettin' touched
Two babies with
Yea, 2 Doe
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe I been in and out the door
I been trappin all this Dro I been gettin it for da low
I been selling it for da high
To increase my ends, enemies gettin' dropped
Win or lose, red or blue
We must all stay true play the game, nigga
Never let the game play you
And for the fame,
that ass on me
Ok I hit the club wit my nigga
Damn right we gettin full of that liquor
Ran into a bad bitch and her sister
Nigga that bang bang no pistol
get in line with the bro mane
There's no gettin' 'round when if gon' bang
Instead, we getting high, we get more bank
When I cash out, I'll get
Yo, T.I.P., talk to them, bloodclot
I'm a real nigga, homie, show six figga's on me
I got a pistol, you don't want it but you know what it is
Aye, I'm
out
Nigga started streaming out please
Don't kill me mane
Slapped him with the pistol across his
Head until we see brains
Uzi left the scene, 28 pounds
got it like this
Motherfuckers they supposed to hate you
(They supposed to hate you)
Talking bout money
But you boys ain't gettin no paper
(Ain't gettin
Three, ayeee, money money yup
Gettin money round the clock swear it’s startin to move backwards
All about that Green Bay like I was a packer
U know
beach bitches with that sassy walk
Who ain't tryna hear nothin' if you don't ride Porsche
To my get money niggas gettin paper fa' sho
Trickin' grands
bear
I'm smokin gas you can't hear me clear
All eyes on me i'm 2 pac
Niggas gettin harrased by the cops fuck the police
Police pull up at every block
She
it's like a sherm high
Niggas think they learned to fly
But they burn, motherfucker
You deserve to die
Talkin' about you gettin' money
But it's funny
I am the streets, the future
I introduce you to Ace Hood, Meek Mills
Big Sean, Wale, Vado, this the future
They gettin' money, they makin' hit
Can't breathe no fuck Nigga germs so I'm out this bitch with my mask on
Ran outta work in the trap now I'm countin up gettin my dance on
Niggas
remember chillin' with my pistol on the train
I'm sayin' two to this I'm representin' hip-hop
Admit that I'm the man, its time for me to get my props
You better count your money.
You better count money
(ghetto cowboy)
(ghetto cowboy)
You better count your money.
You better count money
Yeah yeah, yeah, yeah yeah, QRN
13, I was thuggin' hard, by 14, off the porch
15, I was totin' pistols, by 16, up the road
17, I was writin' raps
yea yea)
In your mind, I call my pistol cause it stay by me (Uh-huh)
That's like my brother, lucky mothers
We ain't nothin to see (Uh-huh)
on 'em last year
Two Maybachs and I had a bad year
Young nigga countin' money like a cashier
White man wanna pay me like I'm U-N-O
Niggas wanna see me
muscle, this shit cock strong (whoa)
Lamborghini decapitated, the top gone
I love that sloppy head, 'specially when she lookin'
Got my pistol by the bed
You can't speed through
Two miles per hour
So everybody sees you
Ridin by myself
With the pistol in the do
Sipping sipping on lean
Sipping sipping on bo
the green light to die (sure does)
I used to sit low with my 64, with my pistol on my hip, yo
Gettin' hypno'
Tires by the Cisco, I would sip slow, 'til I
Discuss these gettin money mane by 2 pistols Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In