Lyrics:
a little somethin' somethin' 'bout as big as yo leg"
This nigga yawnin' while he talkin', so I knew he was weak
And by like six in the mornin', he forgot
Already,
Know what I'm sayin' this Birdman and this how it's goin' down,
That little youngin' Yo Gotti I certified him stamped approval
Look at my fucking dead presidents
Sending me decoys with marked
Money frontin' yo
What you need G? Nah, I ain't got nuttin'
"I say no to drugs"
Is what
gettin' dough, just like Lucky Luciano
People always tell me, yo you're dope Joe
But I'm not a car, so I don't get gassed like Amoco
Never ate the paint,
tical
Still gritty style, foul, crimi-niminal, individual
Sing a song of sixpence
Pocket full of chits
Too many rappers be on john gotti's dick
Now this
come from the 'jects, got a gun on the jet, I'm the co-pilot
I hustle that yola, this cocaine music like Yo Gotti
This shit never fail, I'm catchin'
, the drug dealer
I'm Yo Gotti, the thug nigga
I'm Yo Gotti, my own heir
And if you wanna ODX, then tell Gotti to blow it, nigga
I've been getting money for
gettin' by
If you can't see we bitches ya jags, we forward ya last
We Diamonds ya glass, we get pussy y'all ass. Give me love
We be wearing gloves tied
Gettin' freaky in the club
That money
With the pretty kush taste like honey
By the way she's windin' it on me
My goodness girl you're so freaky, you're so
Already,
Know what I'm sayin' this Birdman and this how it's goin' down,
That little youngin' Yo Gotti I certified him stamped approval
Jus' get yo money mayn, tha INC is runnin' thangs,
hideout wit 'Loose Change'.
An' you nigga Ima send you ta mommy...
wit strict ordas from Gotti ta hide
Ima Need For All The Broke Niggas And All The Broke Bitches To Leave The Club Right Now
Loud Pack Nigga
If You Bout Yo Money And Keep To Yo Motha
shit, we don't play no games about that money, yeah
Big Gotti, plug talk, CMG (plug)
Ten bricks for yo' advance, you signed to the streets
Urus, 'Rari,
on the wall like I'm the heir to Gotti
I swear to Mambo and Nore and all the left wreck
A nigga try front on his body he gettin' sent back
Don't resent
and adopted
By the streets but the
Gift he brought with him to this world
Will effect our outlooks on not only
Rap music but on life as well, forever
Forever
on my porch gettin' high I'm like Smokey
Chipped up celly
Cussin' out Sony (Where the fuck is my cheque?)
Yo! I don't just live by reputation
I'm
like they don't know nothin' about drama
For this money shit many men do trauma
Switchy walked in son, this bitch had the baddest ass
The bulletproof
people gettin lye my niggas is gettin' by
If you can't see we bitches ya jags, we foward ya last
We Diamonds ya glass, we get pussy why'all ass. Give me
Mic, mic motherfuckin' check in this bitch
Mic check, one, two
Ah, let's go, yeah, uh huh
Ayo, Daringer, turn me up some
Niggas gotta feel this
still gettin' injured
NIGGA DON'T YOU KNOW BY NOW THE TANK CAN'T BE DENTED?!!
And when we reach a hundred million cartridges
We ain't finished
Bitch
I got my mind on my money, and I'm not goin' away
So keep on gettin' your paper
For real yeah ain't never had to tell me get this bread
Holiday
(Come on and get up, oh, party, yeah)
This ya boy Yo Gotti
Street Tunes Productions
We gon' ask everybody to stand up on this one
D Boys, this
thinkin' bout time, ain't thinkin' bout mine, ain't thinkin' bout dying
My nigga so street
My swisha so sweet
All this money on the table
How a nigga
niggas wit it, wit it, WB bitch
It's a World War Three nigga, fuckin' wit Gotti boy
I'm bout to separate yo soul from yo body boy
I got that chopper boy,
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