ABM

Lyrics

Phew, phew, phew, phew
 I know bop heads on spinners, sent your big dog to the, yeah, yeah
 I know nine hundred and sixty two reasons why you can't come up East
 We condoning chipes, I know this stick gon' sweep him off his feet
 (FOREVEROLLING)
 EST the streets, they know we get money and kill that beef
 All my opps is rappers, ain't on shit, they tryna kill a beat
 Geeski known to sever links, you with us or against us?
 Burning bridges, niggas in the middle get left in the river
 Glizzy with the switches, it take like four seconds to shoot fifty
 They refresh they Insta', hope to see me dead or gone to prison
 But I'm fresh in all my pictures, icy like December winter
 Sliding with my niggas, we don't see our opps and drop the window
 We gon' hop out, get 'em, doubt your fastest man outrun this semi
 We in parties tripping, please don't walk up asking for no pictures
 I turned up the city, all the killers wanna lock in with me
 They see bop heads on spinners, sent your big dog to 'spital
 Big bro pop them slows and get on bullshit with his chopper
 And we gon' shoot regardless, don't get caught out with your mama
 And we still throw up Cs for Con Gang, home of the robbers
 And niggas know they gambling with they life coming down Poplar
 And I drop off that guala, make 'em come knock off your pasta
 And all y'all know who shot y'all, tell the opps pick up they partners
 And AR with the stocker, shoot it steady when you pop it
 It always been 'bout money, always been fuck all outsiders
 Anxious opps keep getting hit with shots like it's they B-Day
 Surround my self with sharpshooters who don't pass to they teammates
 The island where it's violent, act like you don't know where we stay
 We back to back in elays, tryna make sure you get cremated
 An auction for them bodies, so far, I done bid the highest
 I flew out to Cali, met a man with options of exotic
 I'm silent and I'm solid, make most 'migos take a liking
 We war ready like Vikings, banging two straps like we dykeing
 Driving on the highway, it's pounds of exotic by the tire
 Yo Gotti came and snatched me out the jungle with the lions
 It wasn't too hard to find me, look for the diamonds and choppers
 EST the shiners, young niggas who shoot, we Houston Rockets
 Big bro pop them slows and get on bullshit with his chopper
 And we gon' shoot regardless, don't get caught out with your mama
 And we still throw up Cs for Con Gang, home of the robbers
 And niggas know they gambling with they life coming down popping
 And I drop off that guala, make 'em come knock off your pasta
 And all y'all know who shot y'all, tell the opps pick up they partners
 And AR with the stocker, shoot it steady when you pop it
 It always been 'bout money, always been fuck all outsiders
 

Audio Features

Song Details

Duration
02:15
Key
11
Tempo
158 BPM

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