Skip to content
Lyric
Dive
Public playlists
My playlists
Search
Sign in
Going for 6 feat. SonnyJim & Abhi the Nomad
Heems
,
Lapgan
Popularity · Low
+
Original
0
0
YouTube
Searching YouTube...
Lyrics
Original
Translation
Bilingual
Got my doggy Kofi in the booth with me (yeah, yeah)
Hear me, I keep the coke in the crib (in the crib)
Who you jokin' with, kid? I'm pokin' her ribs (sex)
And I'm smokin' the shit (weed)
Hit the studio, and I'm hopin' this hit (bang)
Yes, then I roll to the crib (out)
I stay rollin' the piff (you clean)
Cops patrollin' 'cause I'm rollin' with six (yeah)
I'm rollin' with six, six
And they rollin' with sticks (gun guns)
Yes, and we known for the drip (fashion)
They throwin' a fit, Lone Ranger
I'm alone with your bitch, I give a loan to your miss
I'm out in country, yo, I'm roamin' the sticks (country)
Swing the bat like I'm goin' for six (prickhead)
Home invasion, I'm knowin' the licks (robbery)
I'm goin' on trips, I'm in Rome with your trick (travel)
Sunny, Jim and Heems are flowin' in six (rap music, rap music, rap music, rap music)
The question is who's bankrollin' this shit?
That's number one, number two, who's holdin' some bits?
Flip the bird on the white girl, chauvinist pig
My boy don't give a fuck and keep the coke at the crib
We watch verses of Ruck versus the Juicerhead Turtles
Shish from the Turkish, sherbet in the spliff, the Shirt Kid
You slip like a herniated disc, a burgundy six
I smoked a blunt with the Uber driver
You were Lucifer, I had to crucify ya
Take a big toot, it's too fire
Chat shit, slap you with the Jimmy Choo slider
I know my way around the deli, at the telly
Weighing out the smelly
I caught the Air India, out to Delhi
Catch me on the rooftop pouring out some Remy
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Kimi hit my line and call for backup like I'm Kevin Jonas (who)
Who knows how long I've been dunkin' flows for O's, I'm sellin' donuts
You know who my idols are, but this for all them kids who know us
This like the Avengers, throw the flag up like a biker squad (yeah)
Turn thirty, still thirsty, lap a cycle tour (who)
Made a couple hundred thousand numbers, matched the FICO score
The mic is raw, the iPhone off, I'm 97 Tyson dog
You Microsoft, and my awards like 9/11 Michael Moore (yeah)
The price is up, so I ain't nice no more (nah)
They said I'm flying high as I can soar
But I'm still vibin' on the Eiffel floor (no)
Still got record heights to blow
I'm smokin' on that Waluigi Piper raw
Don't make a fuckin' typo on my final score
These rappers so off-balance like a Braum at your beach
Save 'em dog shit bars like I'm John Taffer (who)
Haters call me Nav, it's all laughter when they type a song (uhh)
When we meet in person, it's like that one Paul Simon song (shh)