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Come Thru Video (MV)




Performed By: Fredo Bang
Language: English
Length: 2:05
Written by: Frederick Givens II, Norman Payne




Fredo Bang - Come Thru Lyrics
Official




(Ain't that DJ Chose over there?)
I lost some old friends I had to tell, "No" (look like DJ Chose)
The streets they washed up most of these niggas hoes
Can't see be goin' out sad, oh no, no, no
Yeah

When you ain't havin' nothin', watch how they treat you
At my lowest all I had was God, don't ever think I need you
Count up a hundred bands of dirty money, huh, huh (out the mud, nigga)
Showed you the move and you tried to work it on me, I'm like

I swear to God 'fore I go out, I wanna shoot (yeah)
Clap rods like it ain't nothin' else to do (fah-fah)
Keep a stick on me, better have it on you (yeah)
And if you got the drop, nigga, f*ck it, come on through (sheesh)

Pull up
Nigga, f*ck it, come on through
(You know we stand on that business)
Opps now we outside with it (yeah, yeah)
Nigga, f*ck it, come on through

We don't give no f*cks, play you out of luck, uh
I keep it on my side like my .40 was a crutch
I'm workin' with a pair, but bitch, I ain't the one
Might pop one in your head talking 'bout a one on one, huh
Never catch me slippin', got it tucked right by my belly
Ask around the city since a lil' one I been steppin'
I stay out people business 'cause that shit be gettin' messy
'Cause soon as I flash out, you gotta check it or respect it
I pray to God that my dawg come home
I keep a gun just to make it home
I hope my mom know I love her soul
But you raised a child with a troubled soul

I swear to God 'fore I go out, I wanna shoot (yeah)
Clap rods like it ain't nothin' else to do
I keep a stick on me, better have it on you (yeah)
And if you got the drop, nigga, f*ck it, come on through (sheesh)

Pull up
Nigga, f*ck it, come on through
Know we outside with it (yeah)
Nigga, f*ck it, come on through

I pray to God that my dawg come home
I keep a gun just to make it home
I hope my mom know I love her soul
But you raised a child with a troubled soul
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these 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.




(Ain't that DJ Chose over there?)
I lost some old friends I had to tell, "No" (look like DJ Chose)
The streets they washed up most of these niggas hoes
Can't see be goin' out sad, oh no, no, no
Yeah

When you ain't havin' nothin', watch how they treat you
At my lowest all I had was God, don't ever think I need you
Count up a hundred bands of dirty money, huh, huh (out the mud, nigga)
Showed you the move and you tried to work it on me, I'm like

I swear to God 'fore I go out, I wanna shoot (yeah)
Clap rods like it ain't nothin' else to do (fah-fah)
Keep a stick on me, better have it on you (yeah)
And if you got the drop, nigga, f*ck it, come on through (sheesh)

Pull up
Nigga, f*ck it, come on through
(You know we stand on that business)
Opps now we outside with it (yeah, yeah)
Nigga, f*ck it, come on through

We don't give no f*cks, play you out of luck, uh
I keep it on my side like my .40 was a crutch
I'm workin' with a pair, but bitch, I ain't the one
Might pop one in your head talking 'bout a one on one, huh
Never catch me slippin', got it tucked right by my belly
Ask around the city since a lil' one I been steppin'
I stay out people business 'cause that shit be gettin' messy
'Cause soon as I flash out, you gotta check it or respect it
I pray to God that my dawg come home
I keep a gun just to make it home
I hope my mom know I love her soul
But you raised a child with a troubled soul

I swear to God 'fore I go out, I wanna shoot (yeah)
Clap rods like it ain't nothin' else to do
I keep a stick on me, better have it on you (yeah)
And if you got the drop, nigga, f*ck it, come on through (sheesh)

Pull up
Nigga, f*ck it, come on through
Know we outside with it (yeah)
Nigga, f*ck it, come on through

I pray to God that my dawg come home
I keep a gun just to make it home
I hope my mom know I love her soul
But you raised a child with a troubled soul
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Frederick Givens II, Norman Payne
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

Back to: Fredo Bang

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