Top Songs By Baby Grizzley
Similar Songs
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Baby Grizzley
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Jacob Tompkins
Songwriter
Marcellus Wallace
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Jake Tompkins
Producer
Lyrics
Got my **** Strap in this bitch with me, what up, blood?
Listen, Baby Grizz came home, bro
Be honest, bro, what you think he 'bout to do, bro?
Man, he about to trip out, go dumb as hell with that shit, for real, for real (Ain't do doubt)
But like, no time, ****, you know what time it is, haha (For sure that, for sure that)
Look, Baby Grizz just came home, bro, what you think you about to do, bro?
Bro, we gon' fuck the streets up, bro (Mm-hmm)
That's what we finna do, man (Say it again, one more time)
We finna fuck the streets up
Yeah, it's your baby
Ayy, ayy
See, I got carats all on my— I ain't talkin' 'bout no cookin' shit
Catch you and I light your pants on fire, boy, we cookin' shit (Bang, bang)
We the activators, **** all talk, full of shit (****)
Fans got me boolin', I had them wishin', ****, with a stick (Come on, Dre, grrt)
First night out, I'm in the 'Ghini blowin' hella strong (Skrrt)
Get your bitch together, I heard Mia's an umbrella (Woo, woo)
Big money, five hundred, I remember I was sellin' phones (Big money, ****)
Real headbanger, tell them boys put their helmet on (Real headbanger)
You **** got out of line, but I'ma fix you (You out of line)
Quick to wipe a **** face, no tissue (Woo, woo)
Heard dog locked for a body, he a snitch too
Put that bread on a broke ****, fuck his bitch too (Okay)
Ayy, these **** shootin' in the air and shit (They doin' what?)
I'm in the city, we pull up and get to airin' shit, uh
Pull up with a **** ho in the McLaren shit
See an opp and shoot him like a film, we ain't airin' this (Brrt)
If that bitch from the wrong way, I'ma spin her (Uh)
Spent three seventy-five, **** thought I had a printer (For real)
Told block to bring them trees in, it ain't December (****)
**** sprint when we blow down with 50s in the sprinter (Brrt)
Five hundred, free my **** Pill, shout out 20 Lou (Five hundred)
Jack boy like I'm Wop, but I don't fuck with 22 (****)
Threesome with your bitch and your ex, that's what twenty do
Bitch, it's big fifty, rich ****, yeah, twenty coupes (****)
Fuck seein' my opps, dyin' slow as fuck (Huh)
She'll never pull up with a smoker, that's a head shot, quick death (Bang, bang)
Told **** disrespect the head bein' get left (****)
Top five **** in my hood call me Big Left (Bang)
Since I got a deal, they say I act different (Okay)
Caught a fed case and got back, I'm back winnin' (Caught a fed what?)
Twin Lamborghinis, no, this ain't no Scat, ****
Gave my young dog a Drac' and told him back-to-back **** (Kill 'em)
Oh, that's big dog (Yeah), Lamborghini meezy (Yeah)
Drums like a beat, out of here, but I ain't Wheezy (Out of here)
I'ma switch hoes if you ever try to cheat me (Bitch)
And I only fuck rich hoes, Michael Ealy (Yeah)
I'm a dealer and a user, Percs got me woozy (Okay)
You can call me Future when I'm tweakin' with that Uzi (Okay)
**** sneak dissin' dick suckers (All that shit goofy, ****)
Ayy, shoes, shirt, hat, belt (All that shit Gucci, ****)
Ayy, pull up in a tank, blowin' dank with the goonies (Woo)
When she need a saint, but I can't, I'm a loosie
Pull up in a tank, blowin' dank with the goonies (Woo)
When she need a saint, but I can't, I'm a loosie
A milli' plus make these fuck **** believe in us (A milli' plus)
Buy her a prezi, make that young bitch believe in love (Buy her a what?)
Try to eat, I'm throwin' shots, you could eat a slug (Bang, bang)
Love got me hurt, I gotta numb pain with the drugs
I leave a bitch behind for the wrong energy (Leave her behind)
If I don't murder such and such, I'ma injure him (Bang, bang)
**** get into it with a banger, I'ma intervene
Bland with a beam (Bang), Xan' with the lean
Look here, baby, I can't come over without a blick (I ain't goin' out)
You can't be talkin' like the dope man without a brick (Talkin' that)
Ayy, I'm really the kick a door man, we got a lick
I told her if you make me slow dance, I gotta hit
Back to this street shit, strapped with a glee, shit
Blat Gang, knock a **** hat to his feet shit
Think I had a hundred cribs when I got them ki's in
Six twos blowin' through the door, a **** peeped in
Fuck, then I got to leave, I can't hold it up
Pop three 10s, I'm 'bout to slide till I sober up (Woo, woo)
Fuck, then I got to leave, I can't hold it up (****)
Pop three 10s, I'm 'bout to slide till I sober up (Brrt)
****
Written by: Jacob Tompkins, Marcellus Wallace