Top Songs By Bino Rideaux
Similar Songs
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Bino Rideaux
Vocals
BlueBucksClan DJ
Vocals
Jeeezy
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Brandon Rainey
Songwriter
Robert A. Morris
Songwriter
Deon Hawkins
Songwriter
Jabar Abrams
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
RoMo
Producer
William Binderup
Mixing Engineer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Turn they back on me, I ain't even trip
Yeah, we gon' keep grinding like the fuckin' Clipse
**** yelling out they real, then be fake as shit
How you look me in my eyes and you telling lies?
Let a bad bitch drive, while I rub her thighs
We keep pulling up with sticks like we going blind
We them **** punching in on the goal line
I just spilt my whole cup, fucking up my high
Weak bitches at the stu, fucking up my vibe
How I feel about my ****, words can't describe
We be deep up in them trenches trying to stay alive
Yeah, once you cross that line, ain't no coming back
I might fuck that bitch once bet not get attached
Dior on my feet, Gucci on my back
Like a bad ass kid, shit don't even match
[Verse 2]
Whoa
This that vibe, don't kill it
Take that bitch to breakfast in my hood, she gotta feel it
I was one hundred with all them ****
When they was kickin' it
Sippin drank like Weezy
In the coupe, no ceilings
Pocket got a cashball in it
We been shopping where the white folks at
Trying to fit in
I'll do Gucci with the Dior
I ain't even tripping like that
[Verse 3]
See, I been sleeping through the day, working night shift
Wish little bro could post the bail, but he a flight risk
They play my music videos in indictments
Fendi socks, finna pull up on my overnight bitch
I love the Rollins and I love Pooh, 'cause that's who made me
Talking 'bout my daughter when I put Gucci on my baby
Make her wake up in the morning thinking 'bout me daily
And in my city, **** shooting
Ain't no fading, just let it bang him, yeah
Me and all my **** on, we got ranking, yeah
Talking 'bout it's up, we gone leave him planking
Big Drac', but I let it spit like Dave East, yeah
Big chop singing like JoJo and K-Ci, yeah
My bitch go to college, look like Raven Tracy, yeah
One fifty with the roof down, like fuck a AC, yeah
I ain't hate them ****, shorty, **** hating me, yeah
Real **** hard to face me 'cause them **** ain't me
[Verse 4]
Ah
This that vibe, don't kill it
Take that bitch to breakfast in my hood, she gotta feel it
I was one hundred with all them ****
When they was kickin' it
Sippin drank like Weezy
In the coupe, no ceilings
Pocket got a cashball in it
We been shopping where the white folks at
Trying to fit in
I'll do Gucci with the Dior
I ain't even tripping like that
[Verse 5]
Mixing Gucci with Dior, I don't trip none
Mixing Prada with the Louis, this shit getting fun
Remember walking through the mall, I couldn't get none
Now, I'm finna be my momma first rich son
This that breakfast in the hood, come get some
Take a bougie Bitch to town, tell her pick some
Dice game on the porch, bet I hit some
BucksClan, we just scored, yeah, we really up
Half a pound in the club, yeah, that's really us
They just said ain't no smoking, we just lit it up
When I shop, if I like it, I just pick it up
Double S with Da Vinci, I don't give a fuck
Double R coming in behind a Bentley truck
Lot of grams in my wood, ain't no skinny blunts
Lot of blues in my pocket, I got plenty bucks
Wanna hang with the clan, get your Benji's up
[Verse 6]
With another **** bitch, finna live it up
Eating waffles in a foreign, roll the window up
Spilling syrup on my pants in a Bentley truck
**** hating, **** plotting, we don't give a fuck
Walking in the club, we don't need no IDs
Black bitch high as fuck, she look Chinese
Drink a 5th to myself, yeah, don't mind me
Race it to a 40 piece, ****, time me
Written by: Brandon Rainey, Deon Hawkins, Jabar Abrams, Robert A. Morris