Yeah, G-lokk 20, bitch,
Ayy Look, Mr. Go and get it, I don't know why niggas try
Cartier, tint shades, I can't see out of my eye
All my niggas like gun, play you, playin' you, goin
Ayy, pocket stuff just like I'm Baby, I won't never ever cry
And I ain't worried bout no bitch, if you ain't funds then get the f*ck
Ridin' round, I'm servin', packin', I'm still grippin' on my gun
We put niggas in some runts and all my niggas skied up
We got Dracos in the cut, we shoot it loud and leave you hushed
I won't pass it, I just puff, want a bra bus not no truck
None of these niggas really tough, this Glick gon' make em freeze up
If I said it, then I did it, if I did it's for the bucks
I got bitches, use they fist, she finna slurp and eat me up
Bitches waitin' on my fall, I got niggas I can't call
I got Prada on my feet and I got Vinci on my drawers
Niggas know just how we ball, I'm the coldest of them all
I put rubber on my money, you think I'm a dick, you raw
Shorty trippin', a duece of wock It keep me sippin
Coupe without the ceiling and the window still be tinted
It's a hustler up in it, I got Gucci on my linen
If he reach these VVS's, people aimin' at his fitted yea
And that's no cappin', not a flex
Late night with your bitch and we havin' phone sex
Bad bitch, out of state, big ass, lil' chest
If he speakin' on the net, that boy consider not a threat
Aye naa for real, that nigga geekin
We don't do no talkin', all my boy know we get even
I might f*ck, but I can't keep it, spend some racks for these new sneakers
We put wood chips thru your mans, that boy got ate down by a beaver yea
Ayy, hold on, 20, why you tweakin'
Three hoes at the Hyatt, cause I know they gettin' freaky
She got ass up in the air, we takin' shots of Casa Migos
And my brody gettin' to it
Yeah, niggas say he need a strap, mm, get into it
Hold on, know that I'ma run like all the way through it
Yeah, hold on, yeah, like all the way through it
Know my brody gettin' to it, niggas say he need a strap
I ran off to get a bag and bought like 30 of them back
You my homie, get a dab, I take his bitch and beat her back
You can talk shit all you want, I bet that bitch never react
Cause they know I'm quick to bust, and these hoes I never trust
Slidin' on the beat like Giannis,
Bitch I always get the bucks
If he try, he outta luck, Aye Bush Biscotti and some runts
High as f*ck, I'm ridin' round with a semi in my trunk, nigga
G-lokk 20, Bitch
Glokk20 - GetBackers (Remix) Lyrics
Glokk20 - GetBackers (Remix) Lyrics
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Yeah, G-lokk 20, bitch,
Ayy Look, Mr. Go and get it, I don't know why niggas try
Cartier, tint shades, I can't see out of my eye
All my niggas like gun, play you, playin' you, goin
Ayy, pocket stuff just like I'm Baby, I won't never ever cry
And I ain't worried bout no bitch, if you ain't funds then get the f*ck
Ridin' round, I'm servin', packin', I'm still grippin' on my gun
We put niggas in some runts and all my niggas skied up
We got Dracos in the cut, we shoot it loud and leave you hushed
I won't pass it, I just puff, want a bra bus not no truck
None of these niggas really tough, this Glick gon' make em freeze up
If I said it, then I did it, if I did it's for the bucks
I got bitches, use they fist, she finna slurp and eat me up
Bitches waitin' on my fall, I got niggas I can't call
I got Prada on my feet and I got Vinci on my drawers
Niggas know just how we ball, I'm the coldest of them all
I put rubber on my money, you think I'm a dick, you raw
Shorty trippin', a duece of wock It keep me sippin
Coupe without the ceiling and the window still be tinted
It's a hustler up in it, I got Gucci on my linen
If he reach these VVS's, people aimin' at his fitted yea
And that's no cappin', not a flex
Late night with your bitch and we havin' phone sex
Bad bitch, out of state, big ass, lil' chest
If he speakin' on the net, that boy consider not a threat
Aye naa for real, that nigga geekin
We don't do no talkin', all my boy know we get even
I might f*ck, but I can't keep it, spend some racks for these new sneakers
We put wood chips thru your mans, that boy got ate down by a beaver yea
Ayy, hold on, 20, why you tweakin'
Three hoes at the Hyatt, cause I know they gettin' freaky
She got ass up in the air, we takin' shots of Casa Migos
And my brody gettin' to it
Yeah, niggas say he need a strap, mm, get into it
Hold on, know that I'ma run like all the way through it
Yeah, hold on, yeah, like all the way through it
Know my brody gettin' to it, niggas say he need a strap
I ran off to get a bag and bought like 30 of them back
You my homie, get a dab, I take his bitch and beat her back
You can talk shit all you want, I bet that bitch never react
Cause they know I'm quick to bust, and these hoes I never trust
Slidin' on the beat like Giannis,
Bitch I always get the bucks
If he try, he outta luck, Aye Bush Biscotti and some runts
High as f*ck, I'm ridin' round with a semi in my trunk, nigga
G-lokk 20, Bitch
Ayy Look, Mr. Go and get it, I don't know why niggas try
Cartier, tint shades, I can't see out of my eye
All my niggas like gun, play you, playin' you, goin
Ayy, pocket stuff just like I'm Baby, I won't never ever cry
And I ain't worried bout no bitch, if you ain't funds then get the f*ck
Ridin' round, I'm servin', packin', I'm still grippin' on my gun
We put niggas in some runts and all my niggas skied up
We got Dracos in the cut, we shoot it loud and leave you hushed
I won't pass it, I just puff, want a bra bus not no truck
None of these niggas really tough, this Glick gon' make em freeze up
If I said it, then I did it, if I did it's for the bucks
I got bitches, use they fist, she finna slurp and eat me up
Bitches waitin' on my fall, I got niggas I can't call
I got Prada on my feet and I got Vinci on my drawers
Niggas know just how we ball, I'm the coldest of them all
I put rubber on my money, you think I'm a dick, you raw
Shorty trippin', a duece of wock It keep me sippin
Coupe without the ceiling and the window still be tinted
It's a hustler up in it, I got Gucci on my linen
If he reach these VVS's, people aimin' at his fitted yea
And that's no cappin', not a flex
Late night with your bitch and we havin' phone sex
Bad bitch, out of state, big ass, lil' chest
If he speakin' on the net, that boy consider not a threat
Aye naa for real, that nigga geekin
We don't do no talkin', all my boy know we get even
I might f*ck, but I can't keep it, spend some racks for these new sneakers
We put wood chips thru your mans, that boy got ate down by a beaver yea
Ayy, hold on, 20, why you tweakin'
Three hoes at the Hyatt, cause I know they gettin' freaky
She got ass up in the air, we takin' shots of Casa Migos
And my brody gettin' to it
Yeah, niggas say he need a strap, mm, get into it
Hold on, know that I'ma run like all the way through it
Yeah, hold on, yeah, like all the way through it
Know my brody gettin' to it, niggas say he need a strap
I ran off to get a bag and bought like 30 of them back
You my homie, get a dab, I take his bitch and beat her back
You can talk shit all you want, I bet that bitch never react
Cause they know I'm quick to bust, and these hoes I never trust
Slidin' on the beat like Giannis,
Bitch I always get the bucks
If he try, he outta luck, Aye Bush Biscotti and some runts
High as f*ck, I'm ridin' round with a semi in my trunk, nigga
G-lokk 20, Bitch
Writer: ZeDrian Burrell
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid