R.E.D.

Sleiman

Iver (uh)

Ho thicker, diamonds on my neck flicker

Drug dealer, professional pot whipper

Seven figures, got your bitches fuckin' quicker

She want a picture, I tell her no, I know she bitter

**** cuttin' up on the internet

Fuck ****, we ain't into that

We end up in your crib where your family at

Got the .40 on my hip, yeah, that's my stick, yeah

She wanna fuck for a grip, yeah, on my blick, yeah

Couple bands on my shit, yeah, I'ma rip, yeah

With the shits, yeah, that's my clique, yeah

MAC-11, 9 milli', ridin' with it (ridin' with it)

I'ma hit him up, I'ma fuckin' kill him (fuckin' kill him)

Run up on him, masked with a black .40 (black .40)

Hit 'em in his hoodie, no A Boogie

Pu-pu-pull up in the black Benz

Clip for the .9's and the MAC-10's

Beefy on the molly, **** want my money

But when they see me coming, I can see them **** runnin'

I see them **** runnin'

Let them **** act, 'cause they bitches they be lovin', yeah

Blood time, blood rhyme, ****, this is blood line

**** gettin' stupid, try to get by

Pu-pu-pull up in the black Benz

Clip for the .9's and the MAC-10's

MAC-11, 9 milli', ridin' with it (ridin' with it)

I'ma hit him up, I'ma fuckin' kill him (fuckin' kill him)

Run up on him, masked with a black .40 (black .40)

Hit 'em in his hoodie, no A Boogie

Sleiman

Let that shit breathe