Similar Songs
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Key Glock
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Jordan Houston
Songwriter
Markeyvius LaShun Cathey
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Juicy J
Producer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Uh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Uh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (Aye, this that shit right here dog)
Uh, yeah, yeah, yeah
Ok, yeah
Aye, this shit crack
Aye, Juice, this shit hot
On God, on God, aye
[Verse 2]
First things first, never too much money
I'm sippin' on some purp', thumbing through these blue hunnids (Yah)
Bitch, I ain't tryna flirt, you gonna let me fuck or somethin'? (Yah)
Glizock in her tummy, I'm an animal, Jumanji
[Verse 3]
Please don't run up on me, show me my opponent, bitch
You **** jabronis, and I only dap you phony
You **** don't want it, go on and bool lil' homie
All that bullshit, don't condone it, shoot you, I'm an organ donor (Pow pow)
If you play with me, bitch I'm goin' out like Tony
Carbon in the front seat when I'm riding 'round lonely
I get money in my sleep so I wake up money hungry
Told that bitch I play for keeps, you can't play me like no dummy
[Verse 4]
Key Glock, how you get the foreign?
Bitch, back ends off of touring
Where you put all of that money?
Damn, your bankroll enormous
I be shittin', I need some Charmin
I be killin' all my targets
Smokin', smellin' like I farted, damn I just funked up the party
Big pints, no bottles (Uh uh)
Drinkin' 'til tomorrow
Yeah, bitch I get dollars, I'm a don dada
Yeah, Harlem GlobeTrotter
Shoot you and your partna
Racks in my pocket got me walking with a wobble, yeah
[Verse 5]
Lean with it, rock with it
Sippin' on some wok (Hard)
Motherfuck the cops (****)
Tell 'em suck a cock
Yeah, bitch I send shots (****)
**** I don't box, yeah
You know I cannot, not stop gettin' this guap
I pulled up with the top, but made her panties drop (Yeah)
Fucked your future wife in my Gucci flip-flops
Talkin' 'bout can she spend the night? Bitch, kick rocks
Talkin' 'bout can she spend the night? Bitch, I think not (Uh)
[Verse 6]
What the fuck?
Hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up
Aye, aye
Spazzin', aye this shit sound so motherfuckin' fye
[Verse 7]
Dope boy shit, got my Air Max on (Dope boy)
Riding down the block, gripping on my chrome
You know what I got, bitch my money long
Bitch, it's big Glock, these hoes love my songs
Yup, yup, yup, yup
Written by: Markeyvius Cathey