Back to Top

6Ix9Ine - DUMMY BOY Album Lyrics



6Ix9Ine - DUMMY BOY Lyrics






Stoopid

Y'all already know it be the boy Yung Gordon
And you rockin' with Take Money promotion
Ayy, Take Money Promotion
Give 'em that new shit, no fool shit
Oh yeah, let's go

DJ Lethal, Lethal (Rough Rider)
TMP 954, we live
Take Money Promotion
Tay Keith, f*ck these niggas up

Bitch, I'm silly
Up the chopper, shoot your shit up, let's get busy
Drinkin' Henny, goin' brazy, poppin' pillies
Sex Money Murda, shout out all my blazing Billies (all my Billies)
We in yo' city (We in yo'-)

Shout out my apes in the f*ckin' zoo (Filayo)
Filayo, they gon' shoot
Spin a hoop, who the f*ck is you?
Who the f*ck you know, nigga? No, nigga
Niggas killed your cousin, you want smoke, nigga? (stupid)
Glo nigga, rollin' up your cousin in a blunt, nigga
Bozo, bitch are you dumb-d-dumb-dumb-dumb-d-dumb-dumb-dumb? (stupid)
Bitch, I'm Nick Cannon with this drum-dr-drum-drum-drum (brra-pum-pum)
Pull up with semis, no Lil Pump-pr-ump-pump-pumps (no esskeetit)
We goin' dumb-d-dumb-dumb-dumb-d-dumb-dumb-dumb
Bitch I'm stupid, bitch I'm dumb
I be tweakin', I be wildin', I be booted (bitch I be drunk)
I be stealin', I be robbin', I be lootin' (you don't wanna die)
Your boyfriend dumb, he get no money, bitch, he stupid
Oh, bitch, he, oh, bitch, he stupid
Damn, homie, in high school you was the man, homie (2012)
What the f*ck happened to you? (stoopid)
I'm just sayin', homie
Now you smokin' Black & Milds, smokin' Reds, homie

Ah, ah, ah, what's up?
Shmurda on the motherf*ckin' east side nigga
6ix9ine what's poppin' cuz?

Tell him shut up, suck a dick
Tell him f*ck him, I'm the shit
Bitch, I'm drunk recording this
I'm getting money, I'm the shit
Shout out my Bloods, shout out my Crips
That nigga Ebro, he a bitch
Just another old nigga on a young nigga dick
Bitch I'm lit on the Gram, a million likes, you see my shit
Your bitch DM for the dick
But I probably wouldn't hit
VVS, Cuban hit
Shout out Jimmy for the drip
Your baby daddy mixtape wasn't shit, he a bitch
Free Bobby, free Rowdy, free Cueno, free the 9
Shout out Jay Dee, shout out Kooda, Dee Savv, those my guys
FOA they gon' ride, GS9 they gon' slide
When I woo, woo back, ah-ah-ahh, those my guys

She give me neck until I burst out
She give me teeth, she get cursed out
And all these suckers with they f*cking feelings
Always got these bitches with they purse out
We on the block, put the bird out
I count bricks put the word out
You know you like a nigga Shmoney Dance
You gon' love a nigga when I swerve out

Bitch, I'm silly
Up the chopper, shoot your shit up, let's get busy
Drinkin' Henny, goin' brazy, poppin' pillies
Sex Money Murda, shout out all my blazing Billies (all my Billies)
We in yo' city

Hold up, hold up, hold up, gang
Run that shit back
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Ackquille Pollard, Andrew Green, Brytavious Lakeith Chambers, Daniel Hernandez
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, TAKE MONEY PROMOTIONS, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






Fefe

It's f*ckin' TR3YWAY!
It's King of New York, lookin' for the Queen
Uh, you got the right one, mm
L-let these-l-let these b-b-bitches know, nigga
Queens, Brooklyn, brr, ah!
Murda on the beat so it's not nice!

Pussy got that wet, wet, got that drip, drip
Got that Super Soaker, hit that, she a Fefe
Her name Keke, she eat my dick like it's free, free
I don't even know like "Why I did that?"
I don't even know like "Why I hit that?"
All I know is that I just can't wife that
Talk to her nice so she won't fight back
Turn around and hit it from the back, back, back
Bend her down then I make it clap, clap, clap

I don't really want no friends
I don't really want no friends, no

Draco got that kick-back, when I blow that, they all do track
They don't shoot back, one shot, close range, red dot
Head tight, yeah, I did that, yeah, I live that
Call a Uber with my shooter, with a Ruger, we gon' do ya
Niggas say they killin' people, but I really f*ckin' do it

I don't really want no friends
I don't really want no friends, no

He-he tryna 69 like Tekashi, call him papi
Word to A$AP, keep me Rocky, I'm from New York, so I'm cocky
Say he f*ckin' with my posse, copped me Chloé like Kardashi'
Keep this pussy in Versace, said I'm pretty like Tinashe
Put-put it all up in his face, did I catch a case?
Pussy game just caught a body, but I never leave a trace
Face is pretty, ass for days, I get chips, I ask for Lay's
I just sit back and when he done, I be like, "Yo, how'd it taste?"
(Yo, how'd it taste?)

I don't really want no friends
I don't really want no friends, no

Ayo, Draco got that kick-back
When it kick-back, you can't get yo shit back
In fact this that bitch that
"I hate small talk, I don't f*ck with chit-chat"
AC just stopped workin'
So they hit me, told me bring my wrist back
Come through rockin' fashions
That got all these bitches like "Yo, what's that?"

I don't really want no friends
I don't really want no friends, no

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe
I catch a hoe right by her toe
If she ain't f*ckin' me and Nicki
Kick that ho right through the door (TR3YWAY)
I don't really want no friends, my old ho just bought this Benz
Nicki just hopped in this shit, now I won't see that bitch again
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe (no)
I catch a ho right by her toe (no)
If she ain't f*ckin' me and Nicki (no)
Kick that ho right through the door (no, TR3YWAY)

Mmm, Young Money, Young Money bunny
Colorful hair, don't care
I don't really want no friends, I don't really want no friends, no
I don't really want no friends, I don't really want no friends, no
Scum Gang!
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Andrew David Green, Daniel Hernandez, Kevin Gomringer, Onika Tanya Maraj, Shane Lee Lindstrom, Tim Gomringer
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






TIC TOC

Yung Lan on the track

Okay, tick tock, Audemars wrist watch
I keep a stick
I keep a big Glock
You get hit
I do not miss shots
I keep a stick
I tell her, "Kick rocks"
Okay, kick rocks, wrist go drip, drop
I do not kiss, you making shit hot
You think I'm dumb, I ain't no kid
Thought you was in love
You ain't my bitch, nah

She on my drip drop
She ain't never went both ways, but I make 'em lip lock
Left her at the condo for days, you was at the tip top
Might as well throw away the key, I got the streets locked
I been drinking all this lean, I know I need to stop
Hopping out of stolen cars, and we shoot chops at opps
Two flooded out Rolex's, they don't tick or tock
Lemme catch your lil' shorty, she gettin' picked apart
Everything up to par

I got them big rocks in my ear, nuggets
I got my whole team flooded
Saks On Fifth, I'm with your bitch
She buying everything I wanted
She fly me out to Waikiki
LV all on her bikini
Take her money, go Houdini
I call her when I want eat-eat
On my feet, you see them CC's
Neck and ears, you see them VV's
On my jeans, you see them GG's
Treat that bitch like she a fefe
Big body Benz, that's beep-beep
Hit it in the back of the Jeep-Jeep
That bitch know she a freak-freak
And the pussy staying on leak-leak

Okay, tick tock, Audemars wrist watch
I keep a stick
I keep a big Glock
You get hit
I do not miss shots
I keep a stick
I tell her, "Kick rocks"
Okay, kick rocks, wrist go drip, drop
I do not kiss, you making shit hot
You think I'm dumb, I ain't no kid
Thought you was in love
You ain't my bitch, nah
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Andre Felipe Espana, Andrew Green, Daniel Hernandez, Dominique Jones, Milan Modi
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






KIKA

Bitch, we in the city on that hot shit
Looking for a biddy on that thot shit
Y'all ain't getting money, nigga, stop this
I been 'round the globe talking hot shit
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it

Bitch, we in the city on that hot shit
Looking for a biddy on that thot shit
Y'all ain't getting money, nigga, stop this
I been 'round the globe talking hot shit
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it

I do my own shit
I don't need fifty niggas to roll with
Folk shit, I'm on my doley, I'm on my boss shit
I do my own shit
F*ck all them niggas I used to roll with
I know you used to see me with niggas
But that's that old shit
Real nigga, quick to pull a f*cking trigger
Fed nigga's definition of a real nigga
F*ck nigga, quick to f*cking hate, nigga
Bitch nigga, definition of a bitch nigga
Now wilding, ready for all the violence
I don't need a nigga jacking that he riding
I got this four fifth, this shit all up on my hip
I blow that shit, now you where Bobby Shmurda's hat went!

Bitch, we in the city on that hot shit
Looking for a biddy on that thot shit
Y'all ain't getting money, nigga, stop this
I been 'round the globe talking hot shit
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it
I do my own stunts, Jackie Chan with it

Kick her out, I'm getting money now, actin' funny now
Thought she love me, but she only tryna f*ck me for the clout
Saw the Patek all bust down, tried to run down
Bitch hit me on a touchdown, but I curved it
They be begging me to keep the bitch
But I don't need the bitch
Ray Charles, John Cena shit, I can't see the bitch
In the DM sending naked pics, Uber that bitch
But I send her in the pool even though I'm rich as shit

It's f*cking Tr- oh wait, I forgot you can't say that shit
You just gon' start with everything else that start with a T, though
It's f*cking Trojan
It's f*cking Target
It's f*cking
Hahahaha
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Andrew David Green, Daniel Hernandez, Daystar Peterson, Scott Spencer Storch, Vincent Van Den Ende
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, O/B/O CAPASSO, Peermusic Publishing






MAMA

Uh
Murda on the beat so it's not nice!

Tiki Taki, Spanish mami, she a hot tamale (hot)
Make 'em spend that money, dummy, go retarded for me (pop it)
Pop it, pop it, she get started, she won't ever stop it
Little thottie, got her rowdy, choosing everybody

Splish, splash, Apple Bottoms make that ass fat
She got that wet wet, got me blowing through this whole bag (bag)
She got Bs, spend some cheese, now they double Ds
Thought I had to free, kick her out, my mama coming home at three
Ho thicker-thicker-thicker than a f*ckin' Snicker
Drug dealer, professional pot whipper
In the winter, buy your ho a chinchilla (Grrr)
I just bought my bitch them Kylie Jenner lip fillers

Man, oh my God
She Instagram famous but she can't keep a job, ooh
Man, oh my God
Swipe her 30-inch weave on her sugar daddy card, ooh
Man, oh my God
Her doctor got her busting out her motherf*ckin' bra, mm
Man, oh my God
She Uber to a nigga with no car
Talking about the relish, I do not embellish
Jacket got wings, True's got propellers
Gave all my old Margielas to my boy Marcellas
Pulled up with no laces, had the whole block jealous
Oh, Jesus Christ, I don't need advice
Wild nigga life, tell 'em, "Read my rights"
Man it hot tonight, look out with my ice
Fifteen in the game, baby girl, I got stripes (man)

Ka-Ka-Kanye dressed me up like a doll
Then I hit 6ix9ine, tell him give me the ball
Bitch, this the dream team, magic as I recall
Whole squad on point, bunch of Chris Pauls (Chris Pauls)

I was out in Spain, rockin' a Medusa head
I ain't never have to give a rap producer head
If I do though, I'ma write a book like Supahead
This ain't Wonder that I'm making, this that super bread
Splish, splash, f*ck him in a hurry, quick, fast
Still a pink wig, thick ass, whiplash
Got him cummin', cummin', Roger, over, dispatch
Said my box is the best, he met his match
I got all these bitches wantin' to be Barbie dolls
Barbie dreamhouse, pink and purple marble walls
P-pull up in that Barbie 'Rari, finna bury y'all
She threw dirt on my name, ended up at her own burial

Kanye dressed me up like a doll
Then I hit 6ix9ine, tell him give me the ball
Bitch, this the dream team, magic as I recall
Whole squad on point, bunch of Chris Pauls
Ka-Ka-Kanye dressed me up like a doll
Then I hit 6ix9ine, tell him give me the ball
Bitch, this the dream team, Fif' is on call
Whole squad on point, bunch of Chris Pauls (Chris Pauls)

Tiki Taki, Spanish mami, she a hot tamale (hot)
Make 'em spend that money, dummy, go retarded for me (pop it)
Pop it, pop it, she get started, she won't ever stop it
Little thottie, got her rowdy, choosing everybody
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Andrew Green, Daniel Hernandez, Dexter Mills, Kanye Omari West, Onika Tanya Maraj, Rasool Diaz, Shane Lindstrom
Copyright: Lyrics © DistroKid, Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Royalty Network, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






WAKA

Catch a asthma attack, the way we pull up on ya
Put the pump to his chest, make a nigga cough up
You a bum and you stressed, and that's why you lost her
Met a nigga from the X, niggas need to boss up
She gon' eat, you want beef, but this ain't no burger
All my songs on repeat, that's what's up, your word up
I was young with the heat, walkin' round with burners
Wishing I could wish for anything like Timmy Turner

Na-na-oh, na-oh
Na-na-oh, na-oh
Na-na-oh, na-oh

Why this bitch tryna play me? Are you crazy?
Pocket rocket in my cargos, like the Navy
Put this Tommy to his brain, please, like he Brady
Heartbreaking on the daily, can you save me?
Why is bitches tryna play me? Are you crazy?
I can't let her have my baby, you not my baby
I can't let her have my baby, I'm actin' shady
Heartbreaking on the daily, can you save me?

Y'all gotta move, give me some room, I'm 'bout to shoot
Boom! Everybody running out the room
Boom! Everybody begging, "Don't shoot"
Boom! Nigga, who the f*ck asked you?
You a bum, are you dumb? Try me, I got this gun
Run, nigga, if I'm here, don't come
Bitch, you was expecting for me to hit
That's a dub, I know you put a hole in that shit

Sawed off in the damn drawer
Got a .30 in my drawers, gotta hold my pants up
Only time she ever call is for the banana
I don't even check my call log, I don't answer

Why this bitch tryna play me? Are you crazy?
Pocket rocket in my cargos, like the Navy
Put this Tommy to his brain, please, like he Brady
Heartbreaking on the daily, can you save me?

Why this bitch tryna play me? Is she crazy?
That bitch know I'm number one, like Tracy McGrady
Know I got this .380, it's on safety
I know all these niggas hate me, won't let it phase me
F*ck nigga

I'ma swerve in the Maybach, I'ma do some damage
Niggas sit the f*ck down if you don't understand us
I heard niggas talking 'bout they gon' run down on us
Pull up windows down in a f*cking Lamb' truck

Oh, na, na, na-na-na, na
Na-na-na, na, na-na-na, na
Na-na-na, na, na-na-na, na
Na-na-na, na, na-na-na, na, yeah
Scott Storch
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Andrew Green, Artist Dubose, Daniel Hernandez, Julian Gramma, Scott Spencer Storch, Vincent Van Den Ende
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, CTM Publishing, Reservoir Media Management, Inc.






BEBE

Haciendo el amor, a la misma vez tú te toca' (te toca')
Bebé, no te pasa nada, vuélvete loca (lo-loca-loca)
Y tu novio te trata mal, él no te controla (no, no, no, no)
He said

Mi diablita (-blita)
Ella se pone pornográfica en la intimidad (baby)
Y su marido no la valora y la deja sola (la deja sola)
Y yo siempre la estoy esperando con mi pistola (-tola)
Y conmigo ella siempre se moja

Bebesita (uah)
Tu hombre te ama pero tú le ere' infiel (bebé)
Porque tú ere' una diabla dentro de una mujer (oh oh, oh oh)
Y cuando se esconde el sol tú quiere' beber, hija 'e Lucifer

Bebesita (mi baby, uah, uah)
Tu hombre te ama pero tú le ere' infiel (¿por qué?)
Porque tú ere' una diabla dentro de una mujer (mujer)
Y cuando se esconde el sol, tú quieres beber, hija 'e Lucifer

Baby, con ra-ta-ta-ta-ta
Baby, yo soy tu criminal
Baby con ra-ta-ta-ta-ta
Baby, tu novio lo va a olvidar
Baby, con ra-ta-ta-ta-ta
Baby, conmigo te va' a mudar
Baby, con ra-bang-bang-bang-bang
Baby, do' tiro', lo voa' matar (pa' afuera)
¿Pa' qué?, ¿Pa' qué?, ¿Pa' qué?
¿Pa' qué vas a serle fiel?
¿Pa' qué?, ¿Pa' qué?, ¿Pa' qué?
Baby, olvídate de él
Tú ere' mi diablita y yo soy tu demonio
Un amor de manicomio
Y si te veo con él, yo te odio
Siempre me tiene' en insomnio

Medusa, Versace (Versace)
Siempre hacemo' la 69 como Tekashi (yeh eh)
Y yo te rompo to' en secreto, iluminati (-nati)
Y ella se baja conmigo en la disco en el Ferrari (-rrari)
Fumando mari' (uah)
Y tú te hiciste tu cuerpo, bebé, en R.D
Y chingamos y siempre nos venimos a la vez
Y te hice el amor y en tu piel me enredé
Y mi bicho en tu totito te tatué
Oh oh-oh (uah)
Bebé, tú eres mía, ese hombre olvídalo
Y rebota esas nalgas bailándome reggaetón

Bebesita (uah)
Tu hombre te ama pero tú le ere' infiel (yeh-eh)
Porque tú eres una diabla dentro de una mujer (oh oh, oh oh)
Y cuando se esconde el sol tú quiere' beber, hija 'e Lucifer (oh oh, oh oh, uah)

Bebesita (mi baby)
Tu hombre te ama pero tú le ere' infiel (¿por qué?)
Porque tú eres una diabla dentro de una mujer (-er)
Y cuando se esconde el sol tú quiere' beber, hija 'e Lucifer (beber, -er)

Mi diablita (mi nena)
Ella se pone pornográfica, no es tímida (mírame, mami)
Y su hombre no la valora, la deja sola (la deja sola, sola)
Y siempre lo estoy esperando con mi pistola (ra-pa-pa-pa)
Siempre se enamora, mi diablita
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Daniel Hernandez, Emmanuel Gazmey, Ronald Oneil Spence
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.






MALA

Brr, haha
Anuel
Anuel
Real Hasta La Muerte, baby
Uah

¿Qué tengo que hacer
Pa' que tú sea' mi mujer?
Baby, dime qué tengo que hacer
He said, "Mi nena"

Tú ere' una diabla
Y tú ere' mala
Baby, no te vaya'
Mátame-eh
Tú ere' una diabla
Y tú ere' mala
Baby, no te vaya'
Devórame-eh

Oh oh oh oh
Sé que me extraña'
Oh oh oh oh
Tú en mi cama
Baby, tú ere' mala
Tú en mi cama
Baby, no te vaya'
Devórame-eh, uah

¿Qué tengo que hacer
Pa' que tú sea' mi mujer?
Baby, ¿dime qué tengo que hacer
Pa' que tú seas mi mujer?
Uah
¿Qué tengo que hacer (bebé)
Pa' que tú sea' mi mujer? (bebé)
Baby, ¿dime qué tengo que hacer (que hacer)
Pa' que tú sea' mi mujer? (Mujer)

Yo voy con lo' diablo' pa' allá
Ven con tus amigas pa' acá
Rebota esas nalga' pa' acá
Y nos vamo' y nos comemo' allá (allá)
Yo voy con los diablo pa' allá, pa' allá (bebé)
Baby, ven con tus amigas pa' acá, pa' acá (bebé)
Rebota esas nalga' pa' atrá', pa' atrá' (pa' allá)
Y nos vamo' y nos comemo' allá (allá)

Baby, tú ere' mala
Tú en mi cama
Baby, no te vayas
Devórame-eh, uah
Tú ere' una diabla
Y tú ere' mala
Baby, no te vaya'
Mátame-eh

Oh oh oh oh (baby)
Bebiendo baila
Oh oh oh oh
Diabla en mi cama

Dos mil, Louboutin los tacone' (tacone')
Ella se emborracha y en cuatro se pone (se pone)
Y siempre me pide que no la traicione (jaja)
Y siempre lo hacemo', pero sin condone', eh-eh
Y se me trepa encima
Y 'tá to' moja'o el clima
Y con la perla yo voy pa' encima (uah)
Y me dice, "qué rico tú me lastimas", uah
Sudando y bailándome (eh-eh)
Caliente y tocándome (eh-eh)
Y ella no para de beber (beber)
Y adentro 'e ti yo vo' a enloquecer

Tú ere' una diabla
Y tú ere' mala
Baby, no te vaya'
Mátame-eh
Baby, tú ere' mala
Tú en mi cama
Baby, no te vaya'
Devórame-eh (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)

Real Hasta La Muerte, baby
Real Hasta La Muerte, baby
Uah
Mera, dime 6ix9ine, lo' Intocable', lo' Illuminati
Brr, Anuel
Uah, uah
Bebecita
Bebe-bebecita
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Daniel Echavarria Oviedo, Daniel Hernandez, Emmanuel Gazmey
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.






KANGA

M-M-M-Murda

She want me, I ain't want her, ooh
She want me to be her boo
You so silly, don't get it confused
Now turn around, drop it low, pick it up, ooh
Big bank, we gettin' paid over here
Broke niggas, go stand over there
Fake ass hoes, go meet 'em over there
Little booties, they ain't matter over here
Now stop

Wait a minute, now I'm back at it
Back at it like a motherf*cking crack addict
Sex addict, I'm a motherf*ckin' sex addict
Hit shorty from the back, got her back crackin'
Back crackin', b-back crackin'
I love hoe bitches, that's my f*ckin' problem
Yeah, I like to f*ck hoes, I got a f*ckin' problem
Bang, bang, bang and a chicken wing, bitch
Yeah, I know you love how I put it down, bitch
Drop down and pick your weave up, girl
Drop down and get your Eagle on, girl
Head downtown and pick the eaters up, girl
You know them chicken-heads eat it up, girl

She want me, I ain't want her, ooh
She want me to be her boo
You so silly, don't get it confused
Now turn around, drop it low, pick it up, ooh
Big bank, we gettin' paid over here
Broke niggas, go stand over there
Fake ass hoes, go meet 'em over there
Little booties, they ain't matter over here

That pussy get wetter than yours
That head is better than yours
I flew her out so I could f*ck on tour
Flew her back, 'cause my girlfriend's sore
They tried to say I wasn't black no more
About as black as Macklemore
They don't like me 'cause I'm Mexican
Sent me back, now I'm back again
Uh, just bought a piece of Fashion Nova
Your girlfriend look like a ogre
Nigga, fat bitches need love too
My fault, Ye, I wasn't sober
Who the f*ck gon' listen to Ebro? (Ebro)
All these niggas so emo
F*ck that nigga, I'm the motherf*cking shit
Another old nigga on a young nigga dick
N-n-niggas tried to say that I was canceled (canceled)
When I asked them questions, couldn't answer
How Ye? How Ye? How, Sway? Nigga it's f*cking-

Yo, chill, chill, chill, chill, chill, whoa, whoa, whoa
You cannot say that, bro, c'mon

She want me, I ain't want her, ooh
She want me to be her boo
You so silly, don't get it confused
Now turn around, drop it low, pick it up, ooh
Big bank, we gettin' paid over here
Broke niggas, go stand over there
Fake ass hoes, go meet 'em over there
Little booties, they ain't matter over here
Now stop
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Andrew Green, Daniel Hernandez, Kanye Omari West, Shane Lindstrom
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Reservoir Media Management, Inc., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






FEEFA

Trapped on one stop, served my own block
Bought my own watch (own watch)
Loaded Glock, lettin' that thing pop (pop)
They can't freeze us (freeze us)
Skybox, we been at the top (sky)
They can't see us (see us)
Big knocks, f*cked the dirty cops (Hey Michael)
They can't seize nothing
Big shot, f*ck that little thot
I don't need y'all
I stay high, f*cked her and forgot
Like amnesia (-nesia)
Real fly, yellow Prada socks
Bumblebee, huh (-bee, huh)
Went and got, Dior suit and tie
Fresh and clean, huh (Fresh and clean, huh)

The streets so cold, gotta ride wit' a pole
Gotta stay ready for the smoke, 'cause niggas tryna take my soul
I can't go, thought niggas was my bros, but they changed though
Niggas don't know shit 'bout that
How the f*ck a nigga switch like that?
Gotta ride with a stick 'bout that
Put a rip from the hip like that
Keep it around me, I can't never lie
Niggas around me, they stay with the strap
Move from around me, or you could get whacked
I see a opp and I'm leaving my flight, oh

Percocet, bitches on me, I'm a walking brand
Stacking these bands, show like 80 a grand
Hoes in the sprinter van
Pulling up spraying, puttin' hoes in the trash cans
I'ma erase your man
Gunna again, I ain't never follow your trend
Nigga, you do what you can

Trapped on one stop, served my own block
Bought my own watch (own watch)
Loaded Glock, lettin' that thing pop (pop)
They can't freeze us (freeze us)
Skybox, we been at the top (sky)
They can't see us (see us)
Big knocks, f*cked the dirty cops (Hey Michael)
They can't seize nothing
Big shot, f*ck that little thot
I don't need y'all
I stay high, f*cked her and forgot
Like amnesia (-nesia)
Real fly, yellow Prada socks
Bumblebee, huh (-bee, huh)
Went and got, Dior suit and tie
Fresh and clean, huh (Fresh and clean, huh)

I can't sleep, just took 'em off the team
Had to break it down to three, get on one knee
I prayed to the Lord that he'd watch my family
Thinking this bitch gon' wait on me
Thinking my fans remember me
Thinking my friends remember me
Nigga, don't switch up on me
Can't tell me shit, 'specially not no bitch
Ten for ten with this shit
I'ma still drop these hits
I'ma still pop my shit
Got a Draco with the kick
Glock .30, hollow tips
Ride around with that shit all on my hip
See a opp, let it hit
Lately, I been on some suck my dick shit

Bitch, I'm stressing, oh, bitch, I'm stressing
Mama saying, "Don't cry, count your blessings"
I can't sleep, I can't sleep
(Hey, Michael) I can't, uh
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Andrew Green, Daniel Hernandez, David Mora, Michael Mora, Sergio Giavanni Kitchens
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, O/B/O CAPASSO, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., RESERVOIR MEDIA MANAGEMENT INC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






TATI

Hold up, let me get it started
B.B. with the Robin's, lookin' all retarded
B.B. saggin', fly like a dragon
Bitches suck my dick 'cause I'm fly like Aladdin
Scum Gang!

These bitches think I'm stupid, I ain't stupid
Dummy boys fall in love with it, he stupid
All these hoes on my body, cut the bullshit
All these hoes, they ain't loyal, y'all lookin' stupid
I just left Starlets and I ain't even cash out
Back out, straight to the trap house, I blow her back out
I'll pull her tracks out, got her running like it's track now
Like a Smackdown, rock bottom I'ma pin her down
Hold up, let me get it started
B.B. with the Robin's, lookin' all retarded
B.B. saggin', fly like a dragon
Bitches suck my dick 'cause I'm fly like Aladdin

Pour a semi, pull up to the cribby, uh
Licky-licky, licky on my blicky, uh
Take a flicky, make a movie with me, uh
Take a flicky, make 'em real, drippy, uh
Why you watching me?
You all on my IG
Why you stalking me?
You don't even follow me
Why you Tweet my shit?
You ain't used to read my shit
Bitch, you used to f*ckin' leave me on seen and shit

Went to the Eastside, spanked out Juju
Lucky I ain't have it on me, I was gon' shoot you
Spanked him on camera, threw it on YouTube
Stupid lil' dumb nigga, now you on YouTube
If a nigga want beef, I'm the type to drag it
Shoot you while you with your bitch then it's back to mackin'
Police pull up on me, I don't know what happened
Police pull up on you, you gon' get to yappin'
We gon' get to clappin', we been on static
Semi-automatics, they gon' get to clappin'
We ain't with the chattin', you lil' niggas cappin'
If we catch you lackin', turn you into has-beens
Ran through Lust, 100 bands up
Shout out SpinKing, that's my motherf*ckin' blood, nigga
Go, go, go mulignane
Go, go, mulignane

Pour a semi, pull up to the cribby, uh
Licky-licky, licky on my blicky, uh
Take a flicky, make a movie with me, uh
Take a flicky, make 'em real, drippy, uh
Why you watching me?
You all on my IG
Why you stalking me?
You don't even follow me
Why you Tweet my shit?
You ain't used to read my shit
Bitch, you used to f*ckin' leave me on seen and shit
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Andrew David Green, Daniel Hernandez, Gibran Carlton Jairam, Kevin Gomringer, Matthew Jehu Samuels, Tim Gomringer
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC






WONDO

Scott Storch

Shorty, don't clap-back on the dick (hey!)
Don't clap-back on the dick
Bitch, when I hit that, do a split (hey!)
When I hit that, do a trick
Shorty, don't clap-back on the dick (hey!)
Don't clap-back on the dick
Bitch, when I hit that, do a split (hey!)
When I hit that, do a trick

Know I keep a tool on me
I come in the room, I might have to move on 'em
Scope with a zoom, f*ck around and boom, homie
I stay with a broom on me, better move, homie
'Fore you in a tomb, homie
We gon' bring the MACs out, we back out, spazz out
Yeah that's a blackout, get dragged out and packed out
Yeah, my trap house, I call it the black house
We move the packs out, we gon' blow the mags out

All in, anybody that'll do it (hey!)
Everybody in the party getting stupid (hey!)
All these thotties in the party, I ain't choosing (hey!)
I'm off the Henny and the chuck, I might lose it (hey!)

Shorty, don't clap-back on the dick (hey!)
Don't clap-back on the dick
Bitch, when I hit that, do a split (hey!)
When I hit that, do a trick
Shorty, don't clap-back on the dick (hey!)
Don't clap-back on the dick
Bitch, when I hit that, do a split (hey!)
When I hit that, do a trick (ayy!)

DVDs, porno tapes, ayy
DVDs, porno tapes
DVDs, porno tapes
Do you beat your meat to a porno tape? Ayy!
DVDs, DVDs, ayy, uh
DVDs, DVDs, ayy, uh, ay, oh, uh
DVDs, ayy, oh
DVDs, DVDs, ayy
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Andrew Green, Daniel Hernandez, Scott Spencer Storch, Spencer Scott, Vincent Van Den Ende
Copyright: Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, CTM Publishing, Peermusic Publishing






DUMMY

Daytrip took it to 10

I spent some days in the trap and got my money up (yeah)
Bust it down, the Rollie, now she's tryna f*ck (yeah)
And now she fiending all up on me just like I'm a drug (yeah)
I remember back when y'all wouldn't show me love (yeah)
Jaguar truck on the freeway (woah)
You can catch me balling on the replay (woah)
Saint Laurent jacket, it's 3k (woah)
I been with the same gang since pre-k' (woah)

Get the money, stack it with my niggas
I remember trapping with my niggas
Now we overseas in a villa
Going back, we won't consider
I remember days we was starving
Still finessing, we was jugging, we was robbing
I was coming off the bitch, I wasn't started
Now I'm out here balling like I'm Harden
And I make sure my day ones straight
Stay with my gang
You ain't f*cking with me, you can stay out my way
Stay in your lane, f*ck your campaign, yeah
Last year, I was sleeping in a basement
Now the foreign looking like a spaceship
Bust down the gang with the bag, yeah
All the money on me, holographic

I spent some days in the trap and got my money up (yeah)
Bust it down, the Rollie, now she's tryna f*ck (yeah)
And now she fiending all up on me just like I'm a drug (yeah)
I remember back when y'all wouldn't show me love (yeah)
Jaguar truck on the freeway (woah)
You can catch me balling on the replay (woah)
Saint Laurent jacket, it's 3k (woah)
I been with the same gang since pre-k' (woah)

We was down and we was out, and bitches looked at us stupid
It was hating ass niggas, so I kept me a Ruger
Sending shots to his body, make him sing like Ozuna
They was running out they mouth, but they respected the shooter
We was down and we was out, and bitches looked at us stupid
It was hating ass niggas, so I kept me a Ruger
Sending shots to his body, make him sing like Ozuna
They was running out they mouth, but they respected the shooter (yeah)

Blocked blocks, sent shots
Threw that shit in reverse
Then we bending through your block
Blocked blocks, sent shots
Threw that shit in reverse
Then we bending through your block
Watch his body milly rock, yeah
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Andrew Green, Daniel Hernandez, David Biral, Denzel Michael Akil Baptiste
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC






Back to: 6Ix9Ine

Tags:
No tags yet