Song parody of

Ice Talk

by EST Gee

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  • English (English)
  • Français (French)
  • Español (Spanish)

Yeah, yeah (uh, uh) Yeah, yeah (uh) Who got the ups on us? (Who got ups on us?) Strap across your shirt, like, nigga, buckle up (Helluva made this beat, baby) You can't miss, I send you on that hit, might die, you fuck it up Perp hole got like tee trimmers, real street nigga, my money up Wave his bitch like, "Hey, what's up?" Soon as fat boy get close enough Niggas don't want bump, they punks, on IG, hope I post 'em up I talk to them bodies late at night when I be rollin' up They know it's us Gone with all that flaggin', bitch, you braggin', now I choke on bruh .40, that's the caliber, the magazine is seventeen I got this from Medellín, eighteen times thirty-three I hope he ain't sellin' dreams, might go back to mailin' keys I don't want no good bitch, make Dugg bitch a felon, please My wrist methamphetamine (my wrist methamphetamine) You know this that ice talk (ice, ice, ice) Hop out on foot, let pipe off Yellow tape, white chalk Ot gettin' this ice off 'Fore a hundred miles every country town around, we beat it down Used to bag up pieces, sittin' up east listenin' to "Wipe Me Down" I know they don't like me now Your brother, sister, cousin (fuck 'em) Feds ever hit the house, put my shit in the oven They get cheaper by the roster, grew to a monster We blow them choppers, bitch I don't know my alphabets Tell me, what come after rich? Play with us, we whackin' shit Claimin' shit and stampin' shit Fuck y'all (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) These niggas don't want beef with us, they IG killers We bendin' blocks in three rentals, I don't see niggas Keep drillin', bitch, we breed killers, we elite spinners Big Shiner, keep his heat with him, eat and sleep with it Wake up Bitch won't fuck the youngin from the front, go get that makeup To make sure all my niggas had a piece, I took a pay cut Ho gon' put this apartment in her name, we need some paystubs I'm crankin' off fake drugs, did four-hundred in eight months Ten with me like eight stuffed The driver like my idol That's the only bitch I can't touch These niggas is not me, these niggas is not Gee Got blow pack, got Roxies Got weed stamps, its a boxed Gen, I'm top ten Yeah, go catch one and get locked in Got out of line and get knocked in In my city, I'm top ten Number one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine With a white boy snortin' H lines In the side county, niggas can't find With a .45 on my waistline Like fuck next, I'm lit now Crossed over, I'm big slime I'm still slidin', I'm rich now Everybody gotta pick sides Took a risk to hold up my wrist high My lil' brother took six lives He a lil' nigga but look 6'5 Can the opps say they didn't hide? Yeah

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