| Hey, put a towel underneath the door
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| Open the windows up
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| Oh man
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| Don’t you call the cops, I’m smokin' on that killa
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| I’m so super lit I can’t even fight the feelin'
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| Told my kids that daddy must go get the millions
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| Pull up with the top, I left without the ceiling
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| I’m on to bag play
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| I’m in a great space
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| Ain’t with the fake love, I won’t even handshake
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| The real niggas fuck with me, I’m talkin' the long way
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| I jump on the beat hungry, I make it a entree
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| I am not fighting the feeling
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| I gotta be one of the realest
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| Really though, one of the illest
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| Mentally fully committed
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| Ain’t no sauce for the free
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| Ain’t no land of the free
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| Ain’t no hand-out, let me find out, nothing’s here for the cheap
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| I’mma rise to occasion, every time we arrange it
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| I’m alive, nigga, get in line, still ahead of time with the cadance
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| No flaws, no flagging
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| Murder scene, new caskets
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| Boy, it’s feeling like the first time Frank Lucas hit with Blue Magic
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| God
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| Oh shit, I think that’s them people at the door
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| I think we done packed too much gelato in the (?) fool
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| Yeah, fuck it
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| Don’t you call the cops, I’m smokin' on that killa
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| I’m so super lit I can’t even fight the feelin'
|
| Told my kids that daddy must go get the millions
|
| Pull up with the top, I left without the ceiling
|
| I’m on to bag play (yeah, yeah)
|
| I’m in a great space (yeah, yeah)
|
| Ain’t with the fake love (no way)
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| I won’t even handshake (no way)
|
| The real niggas fuck with me, I’m talkin' the long way
|
| I jump on the beat hungry, I make it a entree (did that)
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| Ready or not, fuck if you ready or not
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| Niggas be talking a lot
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| Claimin' they hot
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| «Fuck is you talkin' about?»
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| Niggas they wanna be 'Pac
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| You could get shot like him
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| You know the flow on a old diaper
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| Ain’t no containin' a (?)
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| Cannot compare to a Leonitas
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| Phone jumpin' off-hook
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| I’m in my robe when I cook
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| I’m centerfoldin' my looks
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| I’m tired on schoolin' you rooks
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| Turned the 'telly to the trap
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| Different season on the raps
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| Smokin loud, trying to hold it down
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| Fuck it, neighbors hatin' on the low
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| Any city, I’mma pull up in it, make a fuckin' movie at the show
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| Made a killin' at the door
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| I’ve been living on the road
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| Fans feed my soul
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| Keep on feedin' 'em tho
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| I heard a knock at that door
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| Don’t you call the cops, I’m smokin' on that killa
|
| I’m so super lit I can’t even fight the feelin'
|
| Told my kids that daddy must go get the millions
|
| Pull up with the top, I left without the ceiling
|
| I’m on to bag play (yeah, yeah)
|
| I’m in a great space (yeah, yeah)
|
| Ain’t with the fake love, I won’t even handshake (oh no)
|
| The real niggas fuck with me, I’m talkin' the long way
|
| I jump on the beat hungry, I make it my entree (did that) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Bag Play , by - Ace Hood. Song from the album Trust the Process II: Undefeated, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп