Yo there hiding fam, that’s what they’re telling us
I’ve been everywhere in f#ckin’ Stokey like I’m Elanor
Fam, I’ve got a million stones all pebbled up
The star will tan you like a month in America
Fam I move different
Two parties, quarter ten bags on liquor
Yo fam, I really get scrilla
Nine fifth on the bobs and the dubz is all cheap like Bicester
Fam I got the catties bellin
Because my foods penger than Halle Berry
Fam, he’s brought a bag, and he’s coming for a bag already
I just blew a bag, and made it all back already
Fam, I’m certified and everybody knows
If I’m about to touch a n#gg#, acting you like don’t
See me I phone Ty and get Dutch on the phone
n#gg#s talkin real greazy and hes really gotta go
Yo, f#ck club nineteen, black gloves and a mask on a club ninety
There’s like 15 bells in my gloc nineteen
Your gonna go dead before I see real
Fam, f#ckin holmes I’m rate in the ends
Peng dubz, Ima hit em up eight bills a Z
And if its seven, take it straight back to them
Cause I ain’t f#ckin round with nuttin unless its eight out of ten
Yo, and you know your boy gets payed
I got my license, and brought my whip the next day
Came out of the carwarsh with my n#gg# Flash
And now my holmes lookin like a template
And no one got stripped on some long train cause
I was getting shift when I bust his face cause
And if you don’t believe me go read the f#ckin papers
Yo, Matthew
Go away Go away
What you sayin
Go away, Go away
Being my soldier, I can make you mash quick
I get that creamy bizzle lookin latin
Fiends keep calling for the dubz, cause my cracks piff
Now lemme go back in
Yo, because he got a bag or two, thinkin that he mad payed
My home boy, you ain’t no where on my gangs wave
You see that one bag or two, ask Frogz I spent all of that on champagne
You know Rimz, no flash, n#gg#s boasy
Stacks buying like a hundred of them stoneys
I phone my boo like I’m needing a break
Then I phone a jezzy like I’m needing some brain
Yo, even though I grind tryna see papes
Fam, I’m never to busy for some mean brain
Yo, lemme change my aspa of the whole phrase
Get in your head n#gg#, really that is no point
Yeah he’s got gucci and true religion jeans
My lines outing more than three Zs in a week
Yo, anything I spit you know I mean that
Fam, I rust more than three bags
And fam, you talk about designers like that’s all there is
I wannt a yard, I’m tryna jump on this morgage ting
Yo, yo, I just don’t talk the tings
Fam I really live this life come and walk with Rimz
Too much fed, I’ve gotta be cautious
And on the other hand, streets be talkin
And you can’t talk to man about food
Fam I bag up two Zs f#ckin sleepwalkin
See when the drought came f#ckin up the ends
See I was the only n#gg# with nine out of ten
Connects all hittin man, a bag for a Z
I’m sending that back if that foods comin pressed
Yo I don’t understand thousands of man
Talkin like they beat of thousands of straps
When they ain’t even got a thousand in cash
Hows that possible n#gg#s lying in their raps
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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