50's & 100's (feat. Juicy J)

Lyrics

Who run it? (South Bronx)
 Who run it? (North Memphis, let me chirp these fools)
 Who run it?
 French got weed (Ho)
 French got pills (Ho)
 French got that work, on the corner cutting deals (Ho)
 French know you haters out there talking ain't for real (Ho)
 Never had a job, but we sitting on a mil' (Ho)
 Bitch, I will not stop
 From the back blocks
 I'll get you whacked, topped
 Watch, watch the ash drop
 Drinking French vodka (Vodka)
 Riding with the blocka (Blocka)
 Wearin' three-quarter mink, 'chilla and Chewbacca ('Bacca)
 I saw your main girl, and a playa had to stop her (Stop her)
 Her name wasn't Silk, but her face was the shocker
 Work, work, bust it down
 Work, work, bust it down
 Wrist, bust 'em down
 Bad bitches, bust 'em down
 Work, flush 'em down
 Ain't nothing like a movie
 Hit 'em on the chirp (Chirp)
 You know they gon' do it with the
 Who run it?
 Fifties, hundreds
 Fifties, hundreds
 For the ten, twenties, fifties
 For the fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
 Tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
 For the fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
 Tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
 Gave a king charge to my kinfolk
 He stood ten toes, for you, this intro
 Fuck a bankroll, I need a bank full
 My bitch on E, but my tank full
 I fell in love with your BM in that Bimmer
 I fell in love, Aston Martin, word to Gina
 I can't see 'em
 Slick Rick with the patch on
 Gotta no cap the roof, got my cap on
 Baby, I can't see 'em
 That bitch a deuce, I can't see 'em
 That Biggie, Juice, I can't see 'em
 French the truth, I can't see 'em
 I swear to Luke, I got the gasoline, I light a match on
 Montana hop out with the blocka, blocka, blocka
 Never send a boy to do a man's job
 If it was me, I would've left him with a headshot
 How the fuck you get your own mans robbed?
 Before you see me again, you get that red dot
 I will not stop, fuck the opp cops
 And whoever fuck with 'em, we cannot rock
 I will not stop, even if that block hotter
 Than my mama be up in the kitchen
 With that crock pot (Whip it, whip it)
 Yeah, mama kept me clean, now I'm filthy (I'm filthy)
 Bank account say something silly (Silly)
 Ice on bright, we litty (We litty)
 I'm a bad boy, P-Diddy
 For the fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
 Tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
 For the fifties, hundreds, she gon' for sure split it
 Tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds
 She gon' for sure split it (Shut the fuck up)
 

Audio Features

Song Details

Duration
02:41
Key
7
Tempo
160 BPM

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