Top Songs By REASON
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Robert Gill
Rap
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Robert Gill
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Mike Hector
Producer
Mark "Kietel" Lowe
Mixing Engineer
Lyrics
Yuh, yuh, look
I said, pull up with the, pull up with the, pull up, shits
Ayy, straight out the window, escape from my side
Tell her anything, believe all my lies
Young ghetto nigga, I put fleece on my rides
Nothin' but finesse in my vibes
Niggas steady talkin' like they made me so rich
I put fleece on my clothes, I got grease on my wrist
Fresh white ones, ain't no crease on them shits
Ain't no rink in my clothes, I got geese on my dick
Treat a duck like a duck, show no love to that bitch
If it's up, then it's up, leave you stuck in that bitch
Headed to the money in a rush to the shit
Nigga make a buck like a
Nigga make a buck Like a
Big stick, chillin', shit like 5'2
Wanna fuck with a nigga, send the eyes through
Treat my side like my main, tell her lies too
Got a problem, ain't no problem, send the guys through
Nigga rush a check like Kalashnikov
Bitch ain't suckin', that shit piss me off (that shit make me mad)
Entitled ass pussy, throw a nigga off
Nigga make a buck like a
Nigga make a buck like a
Straight out the window, escape from my side
Tell her anything, believe all my lies
Young ghetto nigga, I put fleece on my rides
Nothin' but finesse in my vibes
Straight out the window, escape from my side
Tell her anything, believe all my lies
Young ghetto nigga, I put fleece on my rides
Nothin' but finesse in my vibes
Niggas steady talkin' like they made Reaz, Reaz
Grew up in it, homie six, leavin' niggas six deep yuh
I was in a bucket, still thuggin' niggas sleep
Push it in the lane like a nigga 6'3
Big stick, chillin', graveyard diggin'
Wrist greased up, light it like a prism
Feed a skeez, DNA, catch it like a villain
I can't say I made it till a nigga make a million
Seven figure nigga, make the digit last
Do a donut in the bucket, smell the rubber drag
Fuck an op, make him suffer like a succotash
Hit it good, doze off, then we run it back
Ghetto nigga lost, throw it in her shorts
Wait, don't stop suckin', that shit piss me off
Look a leechin' ass brodie, throw a nigga off
Nigga make a buck like a nigga make a buck like a
Straight out the window, escape from my side
Tell her anything, believe all my lies
Young ghetto nigga, I put fleece on my rides
Nothin' but finesse in my vibes
Straight out the window, escape from my side
Tell her anything, believe all my lies
Young ghetto nigga, I put fleece on my rides
Nothin' but finesse in my vibes
Writer(s): Robert Gill
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