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Antt did the track Stuntman Beatgang Woo I wake up and I look up in the mirror, prayin' God to Jesus You can get like ten grams for a thousand when I'm in the V You wake up and you look up in the mirror, what you tryna be? All these old niggas runnin' game, tryna mimic Meech I got 'bout like fifty-five shooters when I'm in the D Still got the plug on the drank, he from Virginia Beach We was havin' shootouts with some niggas that's from down the street Bitch, she wanna leave 'cause she heard I'm back in the beef My mama pray for me 'cause she heard I'm back in the streets (Man) Yeah, I need a whole M like four Richard Milles I spent some shit on my chain, this shit cost a bricky This nigga lookin' at me wrong, I'ma up the blicky Have my bitch drain you out your bag, boy, like Robin Givens Yeah, I'm still singing for the pussy, boy, like Lyfe Jennings Ayy, I get to spending that Al Green when I get to feeling I need a thousand pack of beans, keep them bitches spinning And we can shoot back down the way, bitch, just to make a killing We sipped like sixty-five lines, I think I reached my limit She say, "It won't fit, bae, you gotta pack it different" SongtexteI can see this shit now, it ain't no competition But when you hop up in that field, you better not leave that biscuit Tryna run this shit up fast like zero to sixty When you in the streets, boy, you cannot show no sympathy I just blew straight through that bag, she want that Tiffany (Man) Ayy, I heard that nigga lean, dawg, be freezin' in the freezer Lil Jon, I'm with them Eastside boys, they'll get you How you gon' bubble in the D? Niggas hatin', niggas snitchin' Fake OG tryna coach me, he ain't even on the bleachers Gotta watch the niggas closest, he'll give you to the people Twenty-five hundred for this jacket, I just wear it for a season Fifteen hundred for these pants with this thirty piece peekin' If you wanna take a chance, we got the Martin and the Gina She like, 'Why it's hot as hell?" Baby, we the reason I'll have my niggas bake you, wrap you like a pita I'm finna serve this blowhead, she said, "Bring a needle" I told lil' baby go'n 'head when we stopped in Cleveland RIP my baby Five, really miss my mans Man, I'd rather fuckin' die than get played like a ham All this fuckin' money, I just blow it like a fan Yeah, for the whole damn year, I could pay your rent Man, this chopper bustin', sound like Diddy in Making the Band The only thing that I pray that this bitch don't jam I'm makin' way too many pros, don't tell your friend That I be fuckin' with the shh, 'cause I ain't takin' no L's I heard he E.B. Du Bois, he workin' with them I can't bring around my mans, he playin' with ten I sent a new damn ton like I'm playin' with Cam I heard he think he sippin' Act', he sippin' Am-Nam Beatgang Aus Songtexte Mania