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Code Red
Max B
Popularity ยท Low
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
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M.O.R.E. (uh), Gang Green (yep), collaboration (oww)
Boston Biggavel (so deep, so deep)
We love drugs, jewelry, bitches, cars
We tryin to blow, but I'mma take it slow
I got your momma on crack, got your daddy on crack
Gotta blow, and I'mma make it flow
I don't think you want beef cause them boys ain't got a problem
Blowin upside yo' head
I was creepin in the Jeep or even Impala
Now it's time to roll, code red (code red)
Can't leave home without it (no)
Or when I die I'mma be gone without it (yep)
So I'm chasin cheddar to make it better (know that)
Then realize, cake, ain't forever (nah)
Racin, can't stop to put the brakes never
I'm red light runnin, green light gunnin (uh-huh)
Mean ice stuntin, the M.O.R.E., my team tight cousin
Won't sleep or fold (never)
Los Face, Biggavel, streets of Seoul
Don't ask me shit you don't need to know
Cash comin quicker than you can eat and go (uh-huh)
We the four-thirteen boys keep it low (yep)
Up North Mass', on our feet to blow
We won't never fall off cause we keep the flow (know that)
No bread, code red, you need to go
Go 'head old head 'fore you eat the fo'
We love drugs, jewelry, bitches, cars
We tryin to blow, but I'mma take it slow
I got your momma on crack, got your daddy on crack
Gotta blow, and I'mma make it flow
I don't think you want beef cause them boys ain't got a problem
Blowin upside yo' head
I was creepin in the Jeep or even Impala
Now it's time to roll, code red (code red)
Got my eyes on the prize, ain't no turnin back now
I'm built to win
Feelin like life got my back against the wall again
But I seem to still indulge in bitches
And fast cars, with two doors, and two whores
Only one of y'all can fit in here baby
Tell your friend to go hop in the 'Vette
Them diamonds is real, why she look so upset?
Them other three can hop in the truck
Yeah they knockin off heads, they still wanna get head
Baby girl why you worried 'bout them anyway?
Should worry 'bout me, ma you ridin with a G
Y'all speedin but slow grindin, with no brakes or rearview
Straight ahead chasin bread, I don't hear sirens
Just pistols and bottles poppin
For the love lil' homey let them hollows rock 'em
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