Lyricist : Jonathan Porter/Earl Johnson/Cash Jones
Composer : Jonathan Porter/Earl Johnson/Cash Jones
One, two, three, four, five, drive by
Blocka
Ki-ki, ki-ki
Without a doubt, I get that work in the drawer
You know it's blood and blooda
This ain't no joke, if run up you get smoked
Or catch a blade and get poked
The streets got no hope
If you scared pray to the pole
Family fed by the dope
If you ain't live it, you won't understand me
bow with them packs in Miami, I get 'em and go
Cartel ties on the low
DEA knocked on my door then deported my pop
I wonder who gave 'em the drop
When I find out, he get popped
My youngins gon' slide
When they do you, you won't survive
Like we livin' 'em fried
Don't play with my bread
If you ain't heard what I said
Then we go off with his head, oh yeah, yeah
Snuck through the back with the yeah-yeah
You know we got packs of the yay-yay
Big **** as the yay-yay
You more like "No", I'm like "Yea, yea"
My youngin' got locked for the yay-yay
Bail him out, I got stacks of the yay-yay
New foreign, I'ma pull up in that, yeah, yeah
Catch me at the top, oh yeah, yeah
Blueface, baby (Yeah, yeah)
You aight?
Gotta keep a choptick in my chop (Yeah, yeah)
I just copped a house bigger than the cops in the suburbs
I'm the only nigga on my block (Yeah, yeah)
Never leave the house without that yeah, yeah
Forty knockin' off, Gucci headbands (Ooh)
That's not regular, baby these is baguettes, 'guettes
Million dollar views and some Moët get her more wet, uh
Catch me at the top gettin' top (Ooh)
She know I ain't shit but she still gon' pop (Yeah, yeah)
Pull up, drippin' in the drop
Reach for my chain and you niggas gettin' popped (Yeah, yeah)
Snuck through the back with the yeah-yeah
You know we got packs of the yay-yay
Big **** as the yay-yay
You more like "No", I'm like "Yea, yea"
My youngin' got locked for the yay-yay
Bail him out, I got stacks of the yay-yay
New foreign, I'ma pull up in that, yeah, yeah
Catch me at the top, oh yeah, yeah
I'm strapped in this *****
Peep how I walk like I'm rich
I already (Ooh)
I hop in the whip
My youngin' extended the clip (Brrr)
I promise my shooters don't miss
Don't talk to the feds
Got blood on my Nike Cortez, from kickin' and stompin' on heads (Boom)
That lady look guapa, I ain't waste my time on no thot
Can't blame her for shootin' her shot, like "Yeah, yeah"
Shawty in the bathroom doin' yay-yay
You want the drama then the homie got the yeah-yeah
In the back you know I got a lot yay-yay
I know you claim you got the same, homie, yeah, yeah
You like mister me too, part two
Whatever I say I have you say you got too
Like homie yeah-yeah
Now get the **** from 'round me
My youngins in this *****, please don't get them rowdy, yeah
Snuck through the back with the yeah-yeah
You know we got packs of the yay-yay
Big **** as the yay-yay
You more like "No", I'm like "Yea, yea"
My youngin' got locked for the yay-yay
Bail him out, I got stacks of the yay-yay
New foreign, I'ma pull up in that, yeah, yeah
Catch me at the top, oh yeah, yeah
