No Fifties (feat. Lil Keed & Lil Gotit) [Remix]

(Section 8 just straight cooked this motherfucker up)

Young ****

Young ****

Young ****

Fuckin' a booster, she gettin' me clothes

Beatin' with Rooster, we loosen the knob on the doors

Glock 19 with one in the nose

It's on me, but nobody knows

So much shit on me, but nobody knows

Damn, my **** done killed my bro

I don't even know which way to go

But fuck it, thuggin' on my own

Shut up, ****, bring that shit out

Cook up, ****, straight out the pot

I be tryna calm, off these meds, strapped up

Big bruh said, "Why you in the booth?" Fuck the trap spot

I don't give a fuck 'bout a whole whole hater

I don't give, motherfuck 12, I'm a landscaper

Young **** loaded up, still chasin' paper

Young **** strapped, ready to pull your man-card

I rock designer clothes

Come pull up to the block and jugged at the store

Snakes on my collar, I Gucci'd my clothes

Puttin' them diamonds in that big body Rolls

In traffic, we swap out them poles

I let his bitch come blow me like O's

A **** get slimed, you know how that go

Play with that check, then we breakin' your nose

I'm in that Porsche Cayenne

Exotic, I popped me a Xan'

Popped me an upper, I hope I don't land

He pop it, he pop it, he pop it

But he know he can get smacked like a can

Hundred round for an advance

Mess up, can't wait to go jump out a van

Leave the block hot, yeah, they gon' need a fan

Fuckin' a booster, she gettin' me clothes

Beatin' with Rooster, we loosen the knob on the doors

Glock 19 with one in the nose

It's on me, but nobody knows

So much shit on me, but nobody knows

Damn, my **** done killed my bro

I don't even know which way to go

But fuck it, thuggin' on my own

Shut up, ****, bring that shit out

Cook up, ****, straight out the pot

I be tryna calm, off these meds, strapped up

Big bruh said, "Why you in the booth?" Fuck the trap spot

I don't give a fuck 'bout a whole whole hater

I don't give, motherfuck 12, I'm a landscaper

Young **** loaded up, still chasin' paper

Young **** strapped, ready to pull your man-card (Keed, talk to 'em)

Hold up, please chill, bitch (Chill)

Hold up, diamonds real, bitch

Hold up, **** talkin' crazy

We Call of Duty kill shit (Skrrt)

Shots fired out of that foreign

Yeah, the fork scratchin' glass bowls

Fuck mud, we drivin' side-by-sides on the road (Side-by-sides)

Tear it up, ooh

Yeah, they talkin' 'bout, "Talk to 'em, Prince Slatty Slatty"

Work ethic so crazy, I ain't average

Balenciaga, I don't never wear Bally (Balenci', Balenci')

I ain't gotta finesse, just know a **** havin'

Clean image, I ain't get extra tatted

But just know I get extra active

**** on Instagram typin', they laughin'

Well, drop a pin, I'ma pull up straight casket

Fuckin' a booster, she gettin' me clothes

Beatin' with Rooster, we loosen the knob on the doors

Glock 19 with one in the nose

It's on me, but nobody knows (Section 8 just straight cooked this motherfucker up)

So much shit on me, but nobody knows

Damn, my **** done killed my bro

I don't even know which way to go

But fuck it, thuggin' on my own

Shut up, ****, bring that shit out

Cook up, ****, straight out the pot

I be tryna calm, off these meds, strapped up

Big bruh said, "Why you in the booth?" Fuck the trap spot

I don't give a fuck 'bout a whole whole hater

I don't give, motherfuck 12, I'm a landscaper

Young **** loaded up, still chasin' paper

Young **** strapped, ready to pull your man-card