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Presher
LAZER DIM 700
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
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That's all right here
I got a redneck playing in the woods right now, he waitin' on me
How you know I tripped? I ain't know I tripped out
Lick sweet, give me sugar rush
Hella weight on my shoulder, like a push-up
Touchin' racks, I been rich, drippin'
If you run into it, it's a collision
I'ma catch the big fish, I'm a fisherman
Twin done, I smacked through the doo', hit a ceilin' fan
Stuck, I don't know what to say, switch the beat then
Everybody got the new drop, we gon' link then
I done scored a few touchdown, they ain't playin' defense
Nigga see my jewels, think he can take it
Back on the block, I'm back to the basics
Come back with guap, got racks on vacation
Flip the purse, I be quick to erase it
Drop the window, this bitch don't got no safety
New big drip, I never wore Dickies
12 got me fucked up, talkin' 'bout material witness
Pussy bitch, take your uniform off
He script, we seen him going on a two-man
They lock us up, the whole hood contraband
Nigga sleep on me, they popped a Xan'
Same clothes, we done fucked the same ho'
Icebox, got my chain out the freezer, this bitch froze
Li twan go do a lick, he leavin' his soul
Real trench shit, spark the blunt with the stove
Nigga bitin', 'cause this shit getting old
Nigga in the field, determined in the field
Turn my swag on, blicked up when I rise up
Nigga feel like he military, go sign up
Fishbowl whips, get scared, get lined up
Shake the box, now we checkin' the box
Pop the box, we gon' get out the box
Pair the Glock now, they just gave me the Glock
Take an opp down, so the raging can stop
Been sippin' drank, I done aged on the Wock
Popping shit, we turn the WaWa trench
Popping shit, we got the Chevron trench
Popping shit, we got the mini sto' lit
The first time the bitch seen me, knew I was gon' hit
This fuck nigga screaming, we knew he was hit
Pussy boy ain't a demon, he knew he was a bitch
Check the fridge, I got drank in my fridge
Map this shit out, show li twan where it is
I don't want Tris, swear to God, spill Tris out
Stay on beat, so I can't get crossed out
Thousand feet, put the boy with the sharks
Stick by the palm trees, I'm livin' large
Fake geeked up, that shit a faรงade
I don't know which way we goin', which way we goin'
Nigga blicked up, we were quick to disarm
Nigga havin' blue racks, spread on my arm
Finna get a new tat', finna tat' a gun
Nigga fake geeked up, just to trip for 'em
Nigga got a seatbelt on, he went crashed it
He ain't got no flashlight on your gun, you ain't lasting
In my hood, you ain't gon' see none but ratchets
Beat me to it, we gon' see who the fastest
Fuck, fuck, fuck
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