DeeMoney Malone - Houston (feat. Bigg4oes & Lil Dreyko) Lyrics

I gotta get this paper, I gotta get this plate up
But baby don't you cry, baby we gon' be alright
I gotta get this bread up, baby I know you fed up
But baby don't you cry, baby we gon' be alright
Gotta get that paper, alright
Uh-huh
Can't give a f*ck about that nigga, you got posted on yo page
Went to Houston for the week and spendin' what you wish you saved
Poppin' bottles of the rose, got Anejo by the case
Couple bitches in the pool, shakin' ass, makin' waves
I'm so caught up in my ways, bitches rubbin' in my waves
Smackin' on the fattest booty in Vlive
I need change, what I spent in a week
I could've went and bought a chain by the end of the week
I'm switchin' lanes with yo dame, nigga get out the lane
If you ain't at a fast pace, do a buck and some change
Niggas think I'm tryin' to race, swervin' in and out of lanes
Took them niggas on the chase, niggas talkin' bout money
But they ain't got it, how they livin'
All the drug money drippin', can't talk about it, I just live it
When you see me, I'm shittin', I know I had you niggas livid
You ain't gettin' no money, but I can show you how to get it
You ain't hittin' no bitches, but first you gotta get the chicken
I gotta get this paper, I gotta get this plate up
But baby don't you cry, baby we gon' be alright
I gotta get this bread up, baby I know you fed up
But baby don't you cry, baby we gon' be alright
Give a f*ck about that money, you done posted on yo page
When I do you like Ace just know that combo to that safe
Give a f*ck about that ring cam, you done put up on your door
Shit don't stop nothin', either we want you or we don't
Shit real simple, either you with us or you ain't
How you plan on eatin'? If you ain't with us, then you can't
Been got Act, they used to hit us for that drank
Been got straps, they never hit us for no bank
F*ck he on, bag up on his head will put his flunky on
Fly to Cali clean, fly back home with that musty on
How you movin' through my city, tryna duck me though
That's like tryna hide a brick inside a junkie home
Gotta milk these niggas, cause they sweeter than some honeycombs
Better quit that flexin' 'fore I take that like I'm Puffy Combs
I can smell the bullshit with a stuffy nose
Young, rich nigga, drug drippin' with the Buffy's on
Had a flight to Houston, couldn't take the blicky
Gotta go see Cuz, gotta grab that bulldog from Frenchy
Life gave me lemons, I made it Simply
Them stars ain't align, I made Givenchy
Junior come on Christmas, don't try to grinch me
They know I'm that nigga, they been tryin' to lynch me
Lied 'bout occupations, mama, please forgive me
Tried to be that full-time employee, that street money tempt me
I gotta get this paper, I gotta get this plate up
But baby, don't you cry, baby, we gon' be alright
I gotta get this bread up, baby, I know you fed up
But baby, don't you cry, baby, we gon' be alright