Lyrics Stackin Chips - 3X Krazy

Stackin Chips

All draped in teal
Givin' 'em somethin' they can feel
You can call me the Man Of Steel
Kryptonite couldn’t kill
Givin' all breezies the chills
Bumping Keep It On The Real
And you blindfolded
If you thought I wasn’t gone make a mil'
Been trying to further since the sixth grade
It’s urgent that I get paid
Flowamatic when my shit’s laid
And representing that 3 Kray'
Mind set on one thang (What's that?)
That scrilla scratch pay
Two strikes, hit of the day
And just kick it like Xscape
Some suckers hate
But not dem playa, man they love me
And always got something to say on guppies looking lovely
Smelly
Me, Big B and Charlie
Rolling spiffy
And spinning like the rear end of a nifty
I strictly, dig the breezies on me
Hit the cock, something lav, then I pass it to my homie
Tricks be phony
Paging me and B at the same time
Seeing who’ll call back first but ABBA ABBA ain’t mine
I gots no time to wine and dine
Cause once they’ve been on the phone it’s just a waste of time
Off the Rhine
And blunts, them stunts be devastatin'
Pistols out the window, shoot while the whole car figure-eightin'
I’m trying to stack my chips
So I, clock a grip
Then I, make some hits
And I, take a sip
So I, sticks to scripts
Hits my licks
It ain’t nothing like them big head green dead presidents
Let a nigga change your Franklins
They don’t take shits in the telly
and ready for fetti so bring the steak and spaghetti
Niggas done let me
Dig deep in they fucking grab bag
Can’t slip, cause deep in they wallets is where my cash at
I’m on a, first come, first serve basis
When I, hit the casinos, I’m headed out Reno to Vegas
Stacking potatoes, no matter the cause or consequence
Evident, I’m about my scratch and I’m about to represent
Through the crowd, reeking aloud of Omega
Fresh out like Mike but coming back like the Raiders
Uh, I kill 'em in my gators, just pimping and players
Linens, cannolis and Rollies, I’m headed straight to the tailors
Could give a fuck I’m in Vegas
Bitch, so blaze up the dank
From Killa Cali to Bali, then sit as Ceaser’s for steaks
These bitches beggin' for plates
So they touching sidewalks and bullets
Better prepare for the schooling
Never worry I’m overruling
Don’t talk till ya do it
Plus pissy drunk off the fluid
Hookers, good luck at the crookin', looking for B.A.
to do it?
I can’t wait for the mission to killin'
Just getting scrilla from kid stacks millions
500 drop on the spot on top of the ceiling
That’s on the reala, a pimp in my, fucking rhyme
Like 'Ball and MJG make sure you call it like you see it
Just a genius, I know ya seen us, in the wind
So perving is just a matter of time before I do you in
Off the gin, 500 Benz, got me slidin'
So bury the player haters and knock the game out the line
I’m trying to stack my chips
So I, clock a grip
Then I, make some hits
And I, take a sip
So I, sticks to scripts
Hits my licks
It ain’t nothing like them big head green dead presidents
I’m trying to stack my chips
So I, clock a grip
Then I, make some hits
And I, take a sip
So I, sticks to scripts
Hits my licks
It ain’t nothing like them big head green dead presidents
It’s going down in the Bay
Flossin' cold cash around your area
Thought you heard of a nigga that’s stackin' mo' chips
Than the Bank Of America
Droppin' them bombs like a specialist
Finger done eager to kill 'em all up
Murderous mind, no misdemeanor
Listen to the bark comin', I go buck
Sparkin' off the krayzomatic
Sparkin' up my bluntomatic
Stackin' chips up in the attic
Buckin' 'em every time with the Flowamatic
Get ready to get dusted
Fill up the bag with all your cash or catch a blast
No bluff we bustin'
So run it everybody, go do yo math by A.G.E the sick-o-path
Lift you up outta yo shoes for runnin' your mouth
Hit 'em up with the pump then put him in the trunk with the bump
Krazy, mistreat that ass
I’ma slide wit' a clip and a gat that’ll blast
Talking like some loud mouth batch is enough to have that ass subtracted
They claiming they be jacking
But I’m a tell you niggas be acting when they rapping
Got shit full blown ass backwards
Prolly got a lil' strap but scared to bust a strap
Come around my way bustin' strap
Nigga I’m talking 'bout bustin' back
It results in this money and the power
Making about a G an hour
Runnin' machines around this bitch that’ll buck to ya cowards
And I ain’t forgot about what you said ho
Nigga you’ll come up missing from that lead smoke
Gat that ass, fully Mac that ass, another dead foe
Hit him up, get him up, pick him up
I pop my trunk, no need for the ambulance
That boy ain’t getting up
Call the coroner to pick him up
Zip him up, split him up, technical choppin' him up
Funk got big enough fucking with the rigg him up
Light him up, sickaluff get sick enough
Gotta get my cash just like Mitchell
Get your cats before they get you
It’s clear as the picture in my 600 Benz
That I’m out for my dead presidents
I’m trying to stack my chips
So I, clock a grip
Then I, make some hits
And I, take a sip
So I, sticks to scripts
Hits my licks
It ain’t nothing like them big head green dead presidents
I’m trying to stack my chips
So I, clock a grip
Then I, make some hits
And I, take a sip
So I, sticks to scripts
Hits my licks
It ain’t nothing like them big head green dead presidents
I’m trying to stack my chips
So I, clock a grip
Then I, make some hits
And I, take a sip
So I, sticks to scripts
Hits my licks
It ain’t nothing like them big head green dead presidents
I’m trying to stack my chips
So I, clock a grip
Then I, make some hits
And I, take a sip
So I, sticks to scripts
Hits my licks
It ain’t nothing like them big head green dead presidents