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Jdot Breezy
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Lyrics
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Ayy (what's wrong with nigga, man?)
Nigga, uh
I don't get into that
Go pick up that strap
Don't mention me over no internet (thanks, Yakree)
Ayy, bitch, ayy
All that picking sides, I ain't into that
Go pick up that strap, don't mention me over no internet
Bro hit shit for fun, Ricky run, we gon' hit his back
.45 hit his lung, now he done, you can't get him back
Extendo on my blick, let's make a flick, let's see how wet it get
Hit that corner with that Drac and make your man do jumping jacks
Opps need to stop lying like when they kill us, we don't kill them back
I ran up a check calling them, plays like I'm the quarterback
Bitch, you better not come through here, the safe inside is where you at
I lied about popping beans, bitch, I'm still off the X
IG lives and phone calls, we asking where you niggas at
Posted on that block with semis, itching just to catch a hat
We don't know that car, we up the blicks, and we like, "Who is that?"
These bitches fuck anybody, love my gun and not a nat
I just wanna fuck her once, that pussy fire, can't get attached
She calling my phone, I get that neck and never text her back
I upgraded gang'nem, them switches come with extra kick
Run up on me, you gon' die for thinking I'm a fucking lick
You lied in your rhymes, bitch-ass nigga capping, make me sick
We gon' kill the bait, but first, we use them just to whack the fish
These niggas be have-dones, they see me, they be scared as shit
You know I'ma wrap one, JDot never leave the blick
If we in the mall, I see an opp and I'ma hit
Hundred thousand, all cash in one winter, bitch, I'm lit, uh
I'll still hit a block though, I forget that I'm an artist
Pop out, let them shells ring, we just had a chopper party
Run up on them, tag team, Matt came with Jeff Hardy
Rock and roll what? This chop got nuts, the Drac gon' hit the hardest
Loving 7.62s, we put them at mentals
Your homie got hit with lead, but we ain't use no pencils
Wait on them, we stalk them out, we coming to get you
You don't wanna feel this blick? Common sense, bitch, move
Nigga spoke on Leeke and he paid for it
Chop him down, we shave boy
I can't beef with broke niggas or no gay boy
Shake choppers like maracas, knock Tony off skateboards
Hawk him down, drop him, pop him, Glock fuck up his face card
Bitch, give me my space, whore
I say less, they say more
I know what to do about it, shoot niggas that play hard
If I want that hat, this bitch go blatt and hit your bodyguard
IG gangsters pussy, see us, come here, what you running for?
Glock gang, Glock galore
All Glocks, all aboard
My opp got hit four times, so my favorite number four
On sight, these niggas dying, 'K look like a fucking Ford
Outside, nigga, I ain't hiding, pull up, get your ass torched