Red Bottoms

Yeah

My bitch addicted to red bottoms

Point him out, my youngin head shot him

Come from the block, now we're headlinin'

My phone off, they think the feds got him

My bitch addicted to red bottoms

Point him out, my youngin head shot him

Come from the block, now we're headlinin'

My phone off, they think the feds got him

They think the feds got him

My phone off, they think the feds got him

My bitch addicted to red bottoms

Point him out, my youngin head shot him

They think the feds got him

My phone off, they think the feds got him

Come from the block, now we're headlinin'

Point him out, my youngin head shot him

Like Earl Manigault, the block's jumpin'

You was soft, gettin' money made you stop pumpin'

Quarter pound, broke it down, I supply onions

They'll never have your back, probably die frontin'

Me and Rico, that's a kilo

Slidin' through The Heights, me Gutter, Mac and Lethal

Black Balenciagas, hundred dollars on the free throw

Summertime indictment, get excited, I'ma reload

You ain't never came up in the gutter

Everybody sellin' butter and them snitches undercover

Locos trappin' out of **** spot on the DS

It don't matter, summer, spring or winter, ****, we fresh

Got a couple dollars, told my jeweler I'ma holler

Radio copped the Impala, make my pound like he eat's next

Yacht Master Rollie, my youngins'll take your arm for it

Passed it to my shooter, he ain't even have to call for it

That money, ****, we all for it

Any gun you want on deck, just make a call for it

On the block, posted like a small forward

I be excitin' my women, your bitches all bored

We was in to movin' powder like a chalkboard

I'm tryna park Maserati's while you park Ford

You was cuttin' up your work, we gave 'em all raw

Knockin' off this pack of Molly, rockin' Tom Fords

My bitch addicted to red bottoms

Point him out, my youngin head shot him

Come from the block, now we're headlinin'

My phone off, they think the feds got him

My bitch addicted to red bottoms

Point him out, my youngin head shot him

Come from the block, now we're headlinin'

My phone off, they think the feds got him

They think the feds got him

My phone off, they think the feds got him

My bitch addicted to red bottoms

Point him out, my youngin head shot him

They think the feds got him

My phone off, they think the feds got him

Come from the block, now we're headlinin'

Point him out, my youngin head shot him

I've seen that angel dust leave the block naked

Surround sound through your town, drop's vibratin'

I was born with it, you ain't got it, probably die hatin'

Summer time, Lenox Ave, probably tri-state him

Them bitches wanna fuck, I'm thinkin' why date 'em?

Pounds flip, I'm with my brown bitch, so now I laid them

Penthouse up in the clouds, shit's skyscrapin'

Feds got the block bakin', paper I can't stop chasin'

Cocaine cookin', kitchen smellin' like bleach

Every block I go, these **** tell me I'm the streets

Sippin' margaritas with a diva on the beach

Love static, catch him naked in traffic, I'll feel like Reese

Denim & Supply, I've been in the dope spot

Fiends noddin', knockin' Stevie Ribbon in the sky

Woke up with your bitch, she let me hit it from the side

Conversatin' with my loc', he said he crippin' till he dies

Bury **** alive like Pesci and his brother

Middle of the desert, send that picture to their mother

I was young thuggin' 'fore I head of Danny Glover

Oil's burnin', I can smell it, fuck breakfast, we've got butter

Two bitches from Texas in Lexus, me and Butter

That's my Queens, ****, treat my mama like his mother

Flagrant ass rappers, most these **** undercover

Pillow talkin' to them bitches till them ****'s under covers

My bitch addicted to red bottoms

Point him out, my youngin head shot him

Come from the block, now we're headlinin'

My phone off, they think the feds got him

My bitch addicted to red bottoms

Point him out, my youngin head shot him

Come from the block, now we're headlinin'

My phone off, they think the feds got him

They think the feds got him

My phone off, they think the feds got him

My bitch addicted to red bottoms

Point him out, my youngin head shot him

They think the feds got him

My phone off, they think the feds got him

Come from the block, now we're headlinin'

Point him out, my youngin head shot him