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Trippie Redd - FREE RIO Lyrics



Trippie Redd - FREE RIO Lyrics
Official




(Bosley)

Gettin' to the paper, that's my passion
1400/800 Inc., we gettin' cash, bitch
Only like f*ckin' on bitches with fat asses
Call me the reaper, only smokin' on ashes
F*ckin' top tens, yeah, you know that I'ma bag it
Yeah, I'm f*ckin' twin sisters, bitch, you know that they the baddest
Want her all to yourself but you know that I done had it
Boy, I beat that pussy raw, dead, yeah, it's in a casket
I just bought Balenci' now I'm walkin' in the mansion
Boy, don't play with me, that switchy get to spittin' automatic
I don't give a f*ck 'bout what you said, lil' ho
If you talk down on the gang, you gonna beg, lil' ho
I heard shawty tryna ride, get on the pegs, lil' ho
Born in crime, homicide, leave you dead, lil' ho
The world through my eyes is infrared, lil' ho
The killers in the streets goin' fed, lil' ho
Livin' in a world where everybody hella street
Everybody got a heat, everybody want beef
Everybody pussy, nigga, everybody sweet
Swear to God, you don't want no smoke with me
Yeah, it's the big bird, bitch, I got issues
It's the middle of the summer and my neck got a igloo
Barrel of the drum stare at you and it'll end you
I ain't sneeze but I'm blessed, wipe me down, I need a tissue
I'm Trippie, bitch, I'm slimed out
Iced out bitch with your girl on my dick
Iced out bitch with your girl on my tip
The opps want me but my Glock wanna kiss
Slow down, ridin' 'round
Four deep, every chopper got a hundred rounds
If I catch a opposition, I'ma have to take 'em down
Like the special opps, bitch, catch a opp and tango down (tango down)
I love money counters, bitch, I love the paper sound
Comin' from the trenches, when I'm in 'em, safe and sound
Used to love the beef, I love gettin' paper now
Don't use GPS, bitch, I'm on a paper route
Comin' from that place where it's hard to make it out
If it's smoke, want war, nigga, we could face it out
Got your bitch suckin' dick and I ain't into makin' out
If you scared, go to church, nigga, bring the devil out
Gettin' tired of you niggas, Michelin
Seen all you niggas drop but ain't nobody mention it
I just sold out twenty thousand people out in Michigan
I just made it out the hood, nigga, I ain't missin' it
Keep it player with these hoes, nigga, I don't miss a bitch
And you know I'm Big Redd, nigga, like some licorice
I just bought a Rolls-Royce, don't that mean really rich?
Walk around with 1400 hoes on my damn dick
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody (achoo)
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody (achoo)
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody (Bosley)
[ 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.




(Bosley)

Gettin' to the paper, that's my passion
1400/800 Inc., we gettin' cash, bitch
Only like f*ckin' on bitches with fat asses
Call me the reaper, only smokin' on ashes
F*ckin' top tens, yeah, you know that I'ma bag it
Yeah, I'm f*ckin' twin sisters, bitch, you know that they the baddest
Want her all to yourself but you know that I done had it
Boy, I beat that pussy raw, dead, yeah, it's in a casket
I just bought Balenci' now I'm walkin' in the mansion
Boy, don't play with me, that switchy get to spittin' automatic
I don't give a f*ck 'bout what you said, lil' ho
If you talk down on the gang, you gonna beg, lil' ho
I heard shawty tryna ride, get on the pegs, lil' ho
Born in crime, homicide, leave you dead, lil' ho
The world through my eyes is infrared, lil' ho
The killers in the streets goin' fed, lil' ho
Livin' in a world where everybody hella street
Everybody got a heat, everybody want beef
Everybody pussy, nigga, everybody sweet
Swear to God, you don't want no smoke with me
Yeah, it's the big bird, bitch, I got issues
It's the middle of the summer and my neck got a igloo
Barrel of the drum stare at you and it'll end you
I ain't sneeze but I'm blessed, wipe me down, I need a tissue
I'm Trippie, bitch, I'm slimed out
Iced out bitch with your girl on my dick
Iced out bitch with your girl on my tip
The opps want me but my Glock wanna kiss
Slow down, ridin' 'round
Four deep, every chopper got a hundred rounds
If I catch a opposition, I'ma have to take 'em down
Like the special opps, bitch, catch a opp and tango down (tango down)
I love money counters, bitch, I love the paper sound
Comin' from the trenches, when I'm in 'em, safe and sound
Used to love the beef, I love gettin' paper now
Don't use GPS, bitch, I'm on a paper route
Comin' from that place where it's hard to make it out
If it's smoke, want war, nigga, we could face it out
Got your bitch suckin' dick and I ain't into makin' out
If you scared, go to church, nigga, bring the devil out
Gettin' tired of you niggas, Michelin
Seen all you niggas drop but ain't nobody mention it
I just sold out twenty thousand people out in Michigan
I just made it out the hood, nigga, I ain't missin' it
Keep it player with these hoes, nigga, I don't miss a bitch
And you know I'm Big Redd, nigga, like some licorice
I just bought a Rolls-Royce, don't that mean really rich?
Walk around with 1400 hoes on my damn dick
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody (achoo)
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody (achoo)
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody
Everybody sick, nigga, everybody (Bosley)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Hunter Roberts, Igor Mamet, Matt Bosley, Michael Lamar II White, Peter Jideonwo
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, The Administration MP, Inc., Songtrust Ave

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