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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Doodie Lo
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
David Saulsberry
Songwriter
Robert Thomas
Songwriter
Trevon Gardner
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Mia Jay C
Producer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
If I'm on yo' ass, I'm on yo' ass, fuck who you know
Only the family can play wit' me, I tweak like Doodie Lo
When this shit be on the floor, they know I'ma shoot for sure
When I find out 'bout they hideout, **** better move they lo'
[Verse 2]
They can't run when we shoot, boy, I pop out wit' a smirk
Man, that lil' **** Skilla stay wit' bands like Lil' Durk
When we pop out wit' them switches, we put **** on a shirt
Them ten mill' bullets hurt, shiesty on, time to lurk
Call my .45 dirty, bitch, we gettin' **** burnt
We be spinnin' like a CD, go back, we tryna repeat
The killas know when we pull up, I'm out here yellin', 'SkeeYee'
When I yell, "Yeet, yeet," them boys know to rob sum'n
[Verse 3]
That lil' ten bag wasn't enough, you puttin' a hunnid' on lil' son
I can't say too much on wax, they know we slump shit where I'm from
Want him dead? Yeah, fuck him, we don't care 'bout who he know
762's leave a fuckboy bald-headed like Doodie Lo
Fuck wit' Skilla, that's my ****, if I catch dude, I'ma kill him
Vulture in that Trailblazer, shootin' shit like Damian Lillard
I'm that one that pressed dude, lotta' said that he ain't in it
I been in my feelings lately, I keep takin' painkillers
[Verse 4]
I ain't ever like them ****, no, I'm tryna tell you
Start wit' all that sneak-ass smoke, and we inhale it, ****
I know **** who snaked out they dog, and I don't feel it
All I want is cuz in this car, 'cause he a killa
Roll them bitches just like dank, huh
Crack house always stank, huh
Potion look like paint, huh
Codeine look like paint, ****
49, he got rank, I could pull some string in here
Real dog ****, big 49'll fuck some famous bitches
[Verse 5]
I got a 30 on my waist, he a lick, well, let's rob sum'n
We was drillin', wakin' up in the morning about 5 sum'n
Why the fuck that **** tuckin' his jewelry? 'Cause the guys comin'
I'm wit' killas, ****, ain't no security, I ain't hidin' nothin'
I put that money on his head, play wit' me, you dead
Them killas, they gon' do whatever I say like Simon Says
I'm a bald-headed rich ****, hit him in them dreads
**** did too much talkin', bitch, you sent him to the feds
In Detroit, I'm at Coney Island, posted up wit' Skilla
On the internet we don't react, folks already killed him
We done caught his goofy ass, he playin' monkey in the middle
Fuck, I think I'm kinda' rusty, I ain't spin up in a minute
[Verse 6]
He still spinnin' every day, I guess some **** never learn
I know **** super turnt, but they ain't takin' care they chirren
That ten milli' hit like Usher, she tried to let a **** burn
I be stayin' to myself, but I won't get dude hurt
Lord, I be outside late, alright
I'm tryna go catch a play, alright
You fucked who? I don't like dude, tell him stay from out the way, bitch
He a two-time felon, how you let bro catch a case?
When them **** can't be 'part of some shit, they start to hate
Johnny Manziel, I touch down and cause Hell
[Outro]
Yeah, big 49, big 4God
Playin' wit' a ****
Written by: David Saulsberry, Robert Thomas, Trevon Gardner