If you a maf*cking G raise ya maf*cking hands
Niggas been pitching grams since we was playing in the sand
This 4-5th lit have you doing the running man niggga I'm the son of Sam, green in rubber bands
Everybody wants to be the cat, till it's whispers about ya business gotta kill a rat, whatever you Niggas doing we ain't into that, f*ck you dogs they even smell it when I conceal the pack, Fake killas fake hustlas, we don't give you dap, seen ya whole routine and address I'll sit on that, whatever bullets you sending ima send em back, with double impact like it's battle rap, whole 8th in some paper and it's double wrapped, rolling loud like I'm driving in a thunder cat, you Niggas wack with ya mumble rap, now you pleading for ya life go ahead and mumble that
If you a maf*cking G raise ya maf*cking hands
Niggas been pitching grams since we was playing in the sand
This 4-5th lit have you doing the running man niggga I'm the son of Sam, green in rubber bands
Don status you know how it go, capos serving me money in Envelops, send gotti to do a hit like I'm dellacroce, watched the shit from miles away through a telescope, in the stars I cop nothing but expensive smoke, I need a deal up in interscope with scope, rollin up with your shorty tryna fill her throat, She den snorted more white than you see on the slopes, she know how to whip the pot and she never say no, didn't cum to see how long her loyalty go, came from nothing so if I got it, it ain't for the low, tryna move how I move you should stay on the low
Eli Tha Don - Alley Cat Lyrics
Eli Tha Don - Alley Cat Lyrics
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
If you a maf*cking G raise ya maf*cking hands
Niggas been pitching grams since we was playing in the sand
This 4-5th lit have you doing the running man niggga I'm the son of Sam, green in rubber bands
Everybody wants to be the cat, till it's whispers about ya business gotta kill a rat, whatever you Niggas doing we ain't into that, f*ck you dogs they even smell it when I conceal the pack, Fake killas fake hustlas, we don't give you dap, seen ya whole routine and address I'll sit on that, whatever bullets you sending ima send em back, with double impact like it's battle rap, whole 8th in some paper and it's double wrapped, rolling loud like I'm driving in a thunder cat, you Niggas wack with ya mumble rap, now you pleading for ya life go ahead and mumble that
If you a maf*cking G raise ya maf*cking hands
Niggas been pitching grams since we was playing in the sand
This 4-5th lit have you doing the running man niggga I'm the son of Sam, green in rubber bands
Don status you know how it go, capos serving me money in Envelops, send gotti to do a hit like I'm dellacroce, watched the shit from miles away through a telescope, in the stars I cop nothing but expensive smoke, I need a deal up in interscope with scope, rollin up with your shorty tryna fill her throat, She den snorted more white than you see on the slopes, she know how to whip the pot and she never say no, didn't cum to see how long her loyalty go, came from nothing so if I got it, it ain't for the low, tryna move how I move you should stay on the low
Niggas been pitching grams since we was playing in the sand
This 4-5th lit have you doing the running man niggga I'm the son of Sam, green in rubber bands
Everybody wants to be the cat, till it's whispers about ya business gotta kill a rat, whatever you Niggas doing we ain't into that, f*ck you dogs they even smell it when I conceal the pack, Fake killas fake hustlas, we don't give you dap, seen ya whole routine and address I'll sit on that, whatever bullets you sending ima send em back, with double impact like it's battle rap, whole 8th in some paper and it's double wrapped, rolling loud like I'm driving in a thunder cat, you Niggas wack with ya mumble rap, now you pleading for ya life go ahead and mumble that
If you a maf*cking G raise ya maf*cking hands
Niggas been pitching grams since we was playing in the sand
This 4-5th lit have you doing the running man niggga I'm the son of Sam, green in rubber bands
Don status you know how it go, capos serving me money in Envelops, send gotti to do a hit like I'm dellacroce, watched the shit from miles away through a telescope, in the stars I cop nothing but expensive smoke, I need a deal up in interscope with scope, rollin up with your shorty tryna fill her throat, She den snorted more white than you see on the slopes, she know how to whip the pot and she never say no, didn't cum to see how long her loyalty go, came from nothing so if I got it, it ain't for the low, tryna move how I move you should stay on the low
Writer: Elijah McDonald
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid