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Streets Video (MV)




Performed By: AP
Language: English
Length: 3:26
Written by: Anton Petrov




AP - Streets Lyrics




Mmm, mmm
Mmm, mmm

When I pull up, I got shooters
Big rocks, big Glocks, and the Rugers
I ain't cappin' cuz my homie got a tool ya
Said she want me, I ain't a mother f*ckin' fool ya
Too much bread, can't do math, need a tutor
Prayin' for my fam, they can't lose ya
We were broke, on a slope, 2002 ya
Now we ballin' and racks all blue, ya

And I'm sweatin' in my sleep
Catch a body on the street
All my demons live in me, ya
They be tellin' me to tweak
But I'm loyal like a G
Cuz my homies gotta eat, ya
F*ck you if try me, got the macs out
I ain't gotta f*ckin' problem, less you stash out
We gon' turn this f*ckin' spot, into a trap house
Spinnin' hundreds every day till we can't count
Got the bags in the back with a few pounds
Got the police on my ass, now I'm on the ground
Shot em twice, and homie he dead now
I was bawlin' and my eyes turned red ya

When I pull up, I got shooters
Big rocks, big Glocks, and the Rugers
I ain't cappin' cuz my homie got a tool ya
Said she want me, I ain't a mother f*ckin' fool ya
Too much bread, can't do math, need a tutor
Prayin' for my fam, they can't lose ya
We were broke, on a slope, 2002 ya
Now we ballin' and racks all blue, ya

When in the f*ckin' cut, I'm countin' bands
When I make a f*ckin' profit, I count grams
You can't follow in my footsteps, where I stand
Cuz I do it for my motherf*ckin' fans
And they shoot you in ya sleep
And ya body on the street
And the blood all over me ya
Try to save you, now you free
And ya soul is with up thee
And ya momma she gon' weep ya

Mmm, mmm
Mmm, mmm

When I pull up, I got shooters
Big rocks, big Glocks, and the Rugers
I ain't cappin' cuz my homie got a tool ya
Said she want me, I ain't a mother f*ckin' fool ya
Too much bread, can't do math, need a tutor
Prayin' for my fam, they can't lose ya
We were broke, on a slope, 2002 ya
Now we ballin' and racks all blue, ya
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

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Mmm, mmm
Mmm, mmm

When I pull up, I got shooters
Big rocks, big Glocks, and the Rugers
I ain't cappin' cuz my homie got a tool ya
Said she want me, I ain't a mother f*ckin' fool ya
Too much bread, can't do math, need a tutor
Prayin' for my fam, they can't lose ya
We were broke, on a slope, 2002 ya
Now we ballin' and racks all blue, ya

And I'm sweatin' in my sleep
Catch a body on the street
All my demons live in me, ya
They be tellin' me to tweak
But I'm loyal like a G
Cuz my homies gotta eat, ya
F*ck you if try me, got the macs out
I ain't gotta f*ckin' problem, less you stash out
We gon' turn this f*ckin' spot, into a trap house
Spinnin' hundreds every day till we can't count
Got the bags in the back with a few pounds
Got the police on my ass, now I'm on the ground
Shot em twice, and homie he dead now
I was bawlin' and my eyes turned red ya

When I pull up, I got shooters
Big rocks, big Glocks, and the Rugers
I ain't cappin' cuz my homie got a tool ya
Said she want me, I ain't a mother f*ckin' fool ya
Too much bread, can't do math, need a tutor
Prayin' for my fam, they can't lose ya
We were broke, on a slope, 2002 ya
Now we ballin' and racks all blue, ya

When in the f*ckin' cut, I'm countin' bands
When I make a f*ckin' profit, I count grams
You can't follow in my footsteps, where I stand
Cuz I do it for my motherf*ckin' fans
And they shoot you in ya sleep
And ya body on the street
And the blood all over me ya
Try to save you, now you free
And ya soul is with up thee
And ya momma she gon' weep ya

Mmm, mmm
Mmm, mmm

When I pull up, I got shooters
Big rocks, big Glocks, and the Rugers
I ain't cappin' cuz my homie got a tool ya
Said she want me, I ain't a mother f*ckin' fool ya
Too much bread, can't do math, need a tutor
Prayin' for my fam, they can't lose ya
We were broke, on a slope, 2002 ya
Now we ballin' and racks all blue, ya
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Anton Petrov
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

Back to: AP

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