Lyrics Free Dem Boyz Pt. 2 - 42 Dugg

Free Dem Boyz Pt. 2

Free them boys, free them boys forever
(Section 8 just straight cooked this motherfucker up)
My lil' brother like eight, he ten
Got one-fifty on 8 Mile
My dirtbike’s on 10 Mile, no friends now
Problems, I let them kill me
Clap one time y’all feel me (Bitch)
Clap one time y’all hear me (Bitch)
Clap one time you filthy (Rich)
Bag touched down at sixty
Back on with a
Bitch, watch me climb from the bottom
Ion’t wanna fuck, I’m fucked up
Ayy, if you ain’t fucked them, you fucked us
Five hundred thousand made off YouTube
Whole gang get a chain, on 42
Made lil' youngins with a name, gon' blow too
Arguin' with the, graduate school
I keep tellin' Quez, «Nigga, you don’t want it like me»
«Want a Trackhawk?
Get you one like me»
I been missin' Lou since 2019
'21 coupe, this is not a '19
And life been crazy, I ain’t seen my baby
Said I have money, bitch prolly still hatin'
Ayy, momma, I miss you, in here with these pictures
Gettin' far from rap, gettin' closer to the kitchen
Still fuck these niggas, all about my gang
Still on Dugg, gon' be hard for me to change
«Ion't fuck with Dugg,» nigga know that shit was lame
They gon' speak about it though
Tell she been fuckin' by the sneakers by the door
I ain’t thinkin' about a ho, got the bag and the cash
'Cept my bud, thirty-eight for the grass
'Cept my Bloods, whole team full of rats
Better have a camera, nigga, talkin' 'bout pressin'
These hoes messy, can’t trust shit, I fuck a bitch bestie
Still on the six-five, down to the seven
Big ass crib, me and used to get it
Fuck around and lose service, I ain’t chillin', I’m servin'
Steady sippin' on syrup, reason I move slow
Put that on my son, fentanyl, then I go
Feel off twice, got back off dope
Done doin' life, can’t wait to come home
Niggas ain’t with me, do this shit on my own
Correct me if I’m wrong but it’s fuck niggas
'Cause home was up with 'em
RIC happy I made it, I can tell
Back home from a L
Still free Nell, still free Merey
When they’re hatin', I love it
My uncle, nigga, and my brothers
We made it, bitch, used to struggle
Now it’s fuck, now whenever that bag touch
Shoot for every day, for like nine months
I’m grateful, doggy, I ain’t had nothin'
Put all out, I won’t have nothin'
This Louis here and these Mike’s
Them thirty pointers on my whites
She fuck good but I’m scared
Maybe 'cause I still remember Paris
That was our bitch, now she theirs
I ain’t trippin' on shit though, she a big ho
Ride '21 Track' with the tint on
Y’all the type of niggas I shit on
Still big 4's, free them boys