Plastic

Rio Da Yung OG, Icewear Vezzo, Lil Yachty

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Icewear Vezzo

Chivez Smith (born October 31, 1989), known professionally as Icewear Vezzo, is an American rapper from Detroit, Michigan. He is the founder of the label Iced Up Records and is signed to Quality Control, he is known for his Clarity mixtape series and his Rich Off Pints mixtape trilogy, with the latter entering the Heatseekers Albums chart. He is noted as a prominent figure of the Detroit hip hop scene. more »


3:33
139 
#1

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(Reuel, stop playin' with these niggas)

It's us
Damn, damn
Damn (it's us)

Me and Vezzo don't do double cups, yeah, we truly stackin' it 
Lucky I came in with my bitch, them hoes, I would've cracked 'em
Last nigga speak on my name (what?), a random person jacked 'em (yeah)
If I die, I'll be on CNN like Michael Jackson
Not 'cause I died, but who I brought with me
Don't let my bitch drink it all, in case I need a kidney
Double R parked right outside, like a raisin in the sun
Sheriff pulled me over, skeptical, 'cause all my legal guns
I'm backwards, I got rich off of music and got illegal funds
Why this stripper, she didn't let me f*ck? Still kept all the ones (damn)
Damn (damn), and I ain't no sucker
House by the lake with the views opposite from Tucker
This nigga pussy, goin' out bad just like no other
My shooter ain't got no sense, he stole from his mother
How you know I fucked your bitch? You still call me brother (damn)
You niggas, niggas different (damn, damn)
Why I'm so specific? Backyard look pacific, heavy on my pivot (go, go, go)
Hit the frog sweat, now my cup look like a midget (damn, damn)
Geeked up off the medics, said it, then I meant it
Cops ask me questions, I'm Cobain, I ain't in it
The way that Vezzo drive his Wraith, could tell he ain't rent it

We gon' hit them boys (baow-baow)
Hunnid hangin' out the chop look like a mixin' board (like I'm mixin')
All my opps be broke as f*ck, they need to fix them boys
Knock the power out that F&N, I need to switch the cord (I need to switch the cord)
Bitch, I love to switch my fashion
Lick the Patek, I got sixty glasses in my kitchen cabinet (that Hi-Tech)
I just bought another Rollie up at Golden Sun (gold)
Poured a four in a one-liter, that's a forty-one
We just upped the score again, them niggas oh-and-one (them niggas losers)
Everything cutty, marchin' for a band, the way he blow that drum
Mix the Louis with the Fendi, I be mix matchin' (yeah)
The clip look longer than the Glock, they think the stick backwards
I dropped thirty at probation, I just pissed Actavis (no cap)
Used to trap right on the horn, now I got six mansions
Shoot the Chrome Heart off his hoodie, that's how he drip fashion (leave 'em leakin')
This bitch ask me was I broke, oh, that's a trick question (stupid ho)
Put the Karo with the water, bitch, I mix classics

Gen5 Glock 19, thirty clip saggin'
Amiri joggin' fit, dumb bitch, I hit licks in fashion
Last nigga I popped up, I had on Big Bastard
Oversized Virgil Abloh hoodie, this a big jacket
Damn near three racks for the varsity with the big patches
Jumped out with thirty clip, hawked him down, he kept zig-zaggin'
Ran up on him, when he hit the ground, pushed his shit backwards
Real lean plug nigga, I could still get acty
Rubber band AP on thirty racks, if a bitch askin'
If you ever see me run from a nigga, I shot the stick backwards
Made dog shit off spittin' fire out my mouth, call me big dragon
Oh, we was talkin' bout white buffs? Lou got six glasses
Plug got five sealed eight-quarter pints, and six glasses
Ho tried to leave me, shot her car up and broke the bitch chassis
Eight lines of Wock', in one cup, we sip molasses
Drive the bitch car and get some head, damn, I'm finna crash it
That gold Dweller fifty-six plain, think I'm finna grab it
Thirty racks hangin' out my pocket, got me feelin' shabby
My city small, nigga think he gettin' away, I can get the addy
I don't really be fuckin' with the Percs, but I can get the Xannies
My shooter got ADHD, he'll kill you for a script of Addy's
I was finna f*ck my bitch mom, but I can hit the granny
You ain't never had a glass pint of red, it came in a casket
My fiend call me for a twenty stone, I came with a basket
I'm takin' niggas guns in the club, I came with a magnet

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Written by: Damario Horne McCullough, Daniel Ray Robinson Jr., Miles Parks McCollum, Reul Walker

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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