Waka Flocka Flame - Real Slippin(edit by max.kote) | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Waka Flocka Flame
• Real Slippin(edit by max.kote)

BSM, we ain't a label, we a fucking mob
Every single nigga with us is a fucking boss
Nigga, I'mma keep it real, that's official run
If you got a problem, we got shooters that'll get involved
Oh Lord
Y'all done got 'em started, nigga
Oh Lord
When they pull them choppers out you better run for it
And that's just on some trill shit
They go to 0 to 100, nigga, real quick
They say Flocka can't rap
So what? I don't need it
I put niggas in the trap
Now I'm what you need, nigga
Neighborhood supplier
You better believe, nigga
Smell it through the vac
Don't even need to see it, nigga
CEO, AP on my arm
Check my neck, 80 piece for this charm
We ain't the same, I'm a king, you a pawn
Your name ring bells, mine ring the alarm
I led my niggas to the water so we all drink
My team strong ain't no room for no pawn links
Still that same hood nigga, what did y'all think?
And this is me I'm writing niggas on the…
Oh Lord
Y'all done got me started, nigga
Oh Lord
That done got me flexing, nigga
Oh Lord
Walk in my garage just like a chauffeur
Pull up 0 to 100 real quick
Black Bently pull up
Looking like its gothic
Street nigga throw up in a 50 just to wash it
I get paid to go to cities just to moshpit
Came a long way from selling tins out the projects
I know niggas never been to a college
They just tryna whip a Benz out of pyrex
Going hard on the beams for the profit
You ain't counting unless you box for deposits

I went from 0 to a million, nigga, real quick
Big gun, I kill a nigga real shit
You got a head 'cause I sell fake, real spit
I went from 0 to some millions just freestyling
Dirty laundry, this way this money piling
Seem like everywhere I go, man, I get respect
Seem like everywhere I go, man, I get a check
I went from 0 to some millions like I'm Alex, nigga
Real shit

[Hook]
Don't let me catch you slippin', don’t let me catch you slippin'
Don't let me catch you slippin', don’t let me catch you slippin’
Caught a nigga slippin' outside of the parkin' lot
Young nigga popped his chain and ran in his pockets
No mask so you know who got it
But you scared to get it back cause you know they 'bout it
Don't let me catch you slippin', don’t let me catch you slippin'
Don't let me catch you slippin', don't let me catch you slippin'
Cause you move to Hollywood you ain't good out there
Send the Pirus get your shit took out there
Bring a nigga shit straight back to Atlanta
Now them Clay County niggas got kush out there

[Verse 1]
Heard he in the H, I call J. Prince Jr
You ain't from the streets you just rap a lot, nigga
Booked for a show in the middle of the hood
You ain't good out there, this is Chi-Town, nigga
Asshole by nature, fuck it I'm Trae
Run that chain, nigga, like it’s a relay
You really pussy that’s what the streets say
Fuck who you know nigga, you gotta pay
Out in PA, fuckin’ with cook
Heard your favorite rapper got his AP took
I’m seein’ green dots, puttin’ money on books
If he broke he hatin’ young nigga get money
Fuckin’ with the white girl, Playboy bunny
Got them niggas lookin’ funny have them runnn’ in your shit
Caught 'em slippin' pumpin’ gas, nigga you a sweet leak
Got robbed by the bloods now you runnin’ with the crips – Nah
You niggas ain’t bool
Imma call troop, he gon’ call big you
Now the guns all on you nigga deja vu
You a question mark gangster – DJ Clue
For that Cuban link chain and that big Rolex
You in the wrong scenario – Tribe Called Quest
On the jet boy mission all our clips got extensions
Tryin’ to hold onto your chain, you gon’ end up missin’

[Hook]

[Verse 2]

Ten toes down with the yoppa, I’m a beast
No V-103 like Greg I’m street
Don’t give up the money, then it’s RIP
Sendin’ head shots like the DMV
Half asleep, split your wig like the red sea
Got stripes in the street like a referee
Have a nigga runnin’ like a refugee
Show you how to rob, got the recipe
Do your homework, find out where he be at
Where he hide the money put the D at
Run up in yo’ shit we gon’ seize that
Then break it down on the g pad
Better be, boo you don’t need that
Waka Flocka Flame catch me hangin’ where the G’s at
Rob a dope boy, I ain’t worryin’ ’bout prison
Can’t call the police ’bout them bricks in the kitchen

[Verse 3]

Grand Theft Auto, send them homies on a mission
Pay yo’ ass a visit braggin’ bout your low ticket
Shoulda kept your mouth closed, now we know your business
Lyin’ on your crib like an infant, kill you in an instant
I want the shit for the chicken, I just hit a sweet lick, Charlie Sheen we winnin’

[Hook]

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