Gucci Mane; Waka Flocka Flame - 15th and the 1st | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Gucci Mane; Waka Flocka Flame
• 15th and the 1st

[Intro]
Uhh, uhh
Ayy Guc' Mane, we good right now man
Get money good man

[Verse 1: Gucci Mane]
It's a white girl in town - name is Cocaine
It's some dirty birds in town - Gucci Mane & Waka Flame
We fly in, on buy-in, say you got more birds? You lyin
You tryin and lyin, you boys ain't supplyin
I pitch like Nolan Ryan, got cocallina flyin
My partners stick up kids, duct tape rope they gon' tie in
In the bushes they lyed in all night that's my word
By the end of the mornin they left with them birds
And I'm gone off that purp', and I'm slurrin my words
I swerved in my Benz, bangin my 4G's on the curb
The lean, the herb, pay me like the first
You cross Brick Squad, get hurt
I got work - Gucci

[Chorus]
My homeboys will get you, pay you on the 33rd
Two pints of lean'll have me slurrin on my words
Undertaker car, triple black drop bird
Stomach full of money, so hundreds I'ma burp
All the hoods love us like the 15th and the 1st
Two pints of lean'll have me slurrin on my words
Undertaker car, triple black drop bird
Stomach full of money, so hundreds I'ma burp
All the hoods love us like the 15th and the 1st

[Verse 2: Waka Flocka Flame]
Five grand for a head shot
Boy don't be no Flintstone and get yo' (Bedrocked), nigga!
Triple red drop, offsets through the parkin lot
Where I'm from, young niggaz shootin at the cops
Where I'm from, they fakin
My hood right side, nigga, green flaggin
Lay yo' ass down if you do too much braggin
Three case, four Glocks, nigga that's swaggin, ughh
Penalized, then goes the Packer-Man
What'cha hell, you would think it was a cracker-man
I don't know 'em bah-bah-bah-bah-back'em man
Fuck 'em den! Throw my stash in the club that there'll do
Every girl gettin past you
Send an ambulance on that ass I want that rent due
Robbin every nigga that ain't Hit Squad, Blood or Piru
FLOCKA!!

[Chorus]

[Verse 3: YG Hootie]
Half a million dollar jewelry like "Fuck that bird!"
Niggaz screamin they want beef, I'm like (Roger That)!
My album didn't sell, so I'm layin niggaz down
Shootin every nigga, that burst leaves a fuckin frown
Forty carats on my bracelet, my Polo black
Niggaz talkin like they want beef, I'm wantin that
Seven grams in the Swisher, I'm gon' solo that
Ridin around with my strap like "Where they at?"
All these rap niggaz hold up, stole my Philly hat
You will never be a legend like the Gucci Mane
You will never be turnt up like my partner Flock'
You niggaz hoes I run your block when them choppers chop

[Chorus]

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