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Credits
AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN
Bloodhound Lil Jeff
Stimme und Gesang
Rell Vert
Stimme und Gesang
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
Earl Wallace
Texte
Jeffery Harris
Texte
Lyrics
(J-Judeh Productions)
(Ayo, Hustler, we gotta stack that guap, fool)
Yeah, yeah, all that (old-ass goofy) yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (fuck that Drac')
Yeah, yeah, yeah, die Y, fuck the opps, man, these **** know how the fuck we rockin'
These **** know who we talkin' to-too, bitch-ass ****
I'm King Draco, got my name off Drac' and splittin' ****' shit
Jump out the whips, they get to runnin', fallin', trippin' over shit
I got too mad 'bout my lil' bousin', Glock 23, and he can't miss (brrt, brrt)
Swing on me like fightin' death (uh-huh), fuck I look like throwin' fists?
Every Glock, it got a switch with 50 shots up in the clip (brrt)
See blue lights, it's time to dip, Glock 30S, it got a grip
They can't go post up on their strip, pull up, send shots and then we dip
Big-ass Glock, it's by my hip, they bagged him up just like a zip
Just left the striker by an exit, we tote Glocks, no Smith & Wessons
If he sneeze, give him a blessin' and send his dumb ass right to heaven
**** bitches, won't address me, I know they probably wanna stretch me
My first hit, caught two for one like some cake from Little Debbie
Shoot my Glock and watch 'em run, uh, we stretch **** out for fun, uh
Always got the biggest gun, can't compare, I'm one of one
Shoot my Glock and watch 'em run, uh (aight, Lil Vert), we stretch **** out for fun, uh
Always got the biggest gun (aight, aight), can't compare, I'm one of one (aight, gang)
Long live Jeff, he was one of none, when you talk about bodies, bro up a ton
**** diss my bro, cut out his tongue, **** say he want smoke, cut out his lungs
Do him so dirty, he got popped while his **** run (let's go), made him fall, we was doin' this shit just for fun
Ain't got your blick, you better shoot or you better run, uh, uh (run then, scary-ass ****)
But I always keep my blick (my blick), catch an opp, he get hit in his shit (his shit)
79 my block (always), who you see me with (let's go), won't tote no Glock if it ain't got a stick (uh-uh)
And that bih gotta have a switch, a Glock 23 got lighter kick (kick)
I'll shoot a ****, I ain't wit' all that fightin' shit, lil' bitch a ho, and you think I'm gon' wife you, bitch?
If I get locked, hope a bitch never write me shit, a Drac' and a hot, got that Lil Jeff type of kit (that's him)
Won't get in that car if it ain't got a tint (uh-uh), you tellin' me slide, but you ain't never slid (did shit)
79 my block, type of shit I represent, he was woofin' online, next week, he heaven sent (woofin'-ass ****)
I'm still in the 'Raq right now, check my residence, mask and glove, leave no evidence
Lil Vert turnt up, gotta look like the president, Lil Vert up next, your boyfriend on fentanyl (dumbass)
Don't care if it's rainin', we gon' spin, fuck the weather (brrt), four **** fucked him up and now he a faggot
Can't compete with me, every opp I'm better than (uh), bitch love me, she talmbout I'm heaven sent (I'm heaven sent)
Fucked her friend, ain't leave no evidence (on bro)
(Look, I was just up on the block with a big-ass Glock, and I ain't duckin' shit)
**** wanna rap beef, I ain't with it, catch a bucket, bitch
**** be on sucker shit, talmbout did I fuck his bitch
Catch an opp and bust his shit, I throw an oop, foe scored a bucket, bitch
I'm King Draco, got my name off Drac' and splittin' ****' shit
Jump out them whips, they get to runnin', fallin', trippin' over shit
I got too mad 'bout my lil' bousin', Glock 23, and he can't miss (brrt, brrt)
Swing on me like fightin' death (uh-huh), fuck I look like throwin' fists?
Every Glock, it got a switch with 50 shots up in the clip (brrt)
See blue lights, it's time to dip, Glock 30S, it got a grip
They can't go post up on their strip, pull up, send shots and then we dip
Big-ass Glock, it's by my hip, they bagged him up just like a zip, gang
These **** can't see me or be me (bitch-ass ****)
You know how the fuck we rockin', how the fuck we comin', man (we not puttin' shit up either, we not puttin' shit up)
These **** hos, man, yeah, gang (on folks grave, **** want that smoke, come push up)
Written by: Earl Wallace, Jeffery Harris