Tonart: G minor•
Intro 1
Gm
Cm
Gm
Cm
Verse 1
(Just
run that bitch, Malik)
My brother Big E
Cm
He keep that chopper on his shoulder
(he keep that chop)
Gm
Oh, he a soldier (oh, he'll pop
a nigga)
My brother 3Three (baow)
Cm
He get the drop so I can fold ya (oh, that
beat bangin', nigga)
Verse 2
Hold on, my wife not mine
Cm
Got diamonds on and that'll blind ya
Pussy nigga, I been grindin',
I done fucked my bag up (huh), and
I ain't scared to tell nobody
Cm
Gm
I'm gon' have another sixty Ms in my
pocket 'fore next year end
Play with Top, way quick, they pop your
Cm
top, know they get killed, man
Gm
Cm
Gm
Got her out her top, your bitch a
bop, gone off that santan
Got no time for these hoes pussy poppin',
Cm
where my money, man?
Gm
Know the FBI been tryna stop me,
I need VPN
Eb
Bitch better quit that poppin' 'fore you fuck around,
Gm
Cm
get your mans spinned
Bb
Gm
Know my youngin poppin', bitch, I
cut up like a madman
Cm
Outside, bitch, we poppin', bitch, we pop pin',
spin that Yeat again
Bb
Hit your block with switches,
Gm
then we repeat like a ceiling fan
Cm
We fill up at Conoco, walk 'round with that Calico,
Gm
we got all type of poles
'Fore I blast you, strike a pose,
bitch, watch your soul go
Cm
Strike him with this bitch, that
Gm
cutter flashin' like T Romo
Cut up like my daddy,
Cm
bitch, Montana kill you, you want smoke
Bitch, float your boat,
you better not choke, boy, you a ho
Gm
Bitch, we gon' beat the last side, we're still together,
that's how that go
now I done seen this once before
Gm
F
Gm
Yeah, ain't no problem, I say
Verse 3
My brother Big E
Cm
He keep that chopper on his shoulder
My brother 3Three
Cm
He get the drop so I can fold ya
Gm
Cm
I thought I told ya
Gm
Y'all boys want beef
Cm
We catch you slippin' and we dome ya
Gm
We walk down on ya, look
Verse 4
Hit the bitch in his face like back to back
Cm
They won't realize him and that's facts
We turn your son into a
Gm
pack, we blew his noggin
Bitch, this gravedigger mode,
Cm
Eb
I can't wait for Stunna Island
Gm
Cm
I'm recordin' right now, do a song,
Gm
and bitch, it's perfect stimulizin'
They won't put that pistol on me,
Cm
they use papers to decline me
Bitch, I'm thuggin', I'll send them
Bb
Gm
slimes to fuck up your whole cli mate
She was fucked up, buy her a sugar
Eb
Gm
bag and I won't tell nobody
Cm
He was fucked up 'bout that sugar
Gm
bag, couldn't pay his hit deposit
Play with me, but Meechy got me
bad, so I gotta call up Brasi
Cm
He still fucked up, he wan' talk 'bout
Gm
ads and how he beat up pockets
After all I see, I got this, my watch
glisten, they gon' watch this
Cm
I been thinkin' I might need to go put
Gm
caskets on my eyelids
Earlobes got shovels,
and my G- Wag' got that B in it
Cm
Step inside my lane, best come with pain, bitch,
Weekends, I need my paper strong, wife
Cm
need to hit Spain for a weekend
Bitch, find a plug around, don't
Gm
come back home until we deep in
I ain't nowhere good, you're
gone
Cm
I need you back, don't do no creepin'
These niggas holdin' me down,
Gm
I need to find me another rich friend
Shit, I need to sell some hitmans
Cm
Get contracts changed to con trast
Gm
No, you couldn't stand up to that four- five, you died,
you stupid dumbass
On my side, you get no pass
Cm
Tote big fires with green flags
We hop out, better run fast
Verse 5
Gm
Eb
Cm
keep that chopper on his shoulder
My brother 3Three
Cm
He get the drop so I can fold ya
Gm
I thought I told ya, yeah
Verse 6
Gm
Huh, ooh
Cm
Slatt, slatt, slatt, slatt
Oh yeah
Gm
Slatt, slatt, slatt, slatt
Outro 1
Cm
Gm
Cm
Gm
Cm
Gm
Cm
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TunerE A D G B E
Akkorde & SongtexteGm Cm Eb Bb F
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