| Yeah, uh
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| If this don’t wake the streets up, I don’t know what will
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| It’s Benny
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| Griselda
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| Uh, this my life, nigga, I’m still front line
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| I’m still front line, nigga
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| Yo, I put the truth on every page I jotted
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| I slang narcotics from the steps of my crib, my mom complained about it
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| I weighed my options, persuaded by the chains and watches
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| Only if you saved your profit, you obtain them objects
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| Shoeboxes to bank deposits, and I’m thankful, honest
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| Uh, ‘cause I’m to my city, probably what Dre to Compton
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| We started off gram coppers, now we land shoppers
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| Rubber bands popping in my Balmain pants pocket
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| First I opened up a trap, then I franchised it
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| Taking chances with the niggas I played with in sandboxes
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| My flow street smart and toxic
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| Life of a vet, Griselda, write us a check, we’ll get your brand profit
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| They gon' label us the greatest regardless
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| We been through worse conditions so that made us the hardest, uh
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| These niggas aiming like that made us a target
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| Bag full of straps, that’s like two hundred pages of charges, uh
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| I’m riding with my fourth felony
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| I know niggas with bodies who talk pleasantly
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| It’s 50 in the drum, 20 in the SIG
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| And if I’m lucky, you catching all 70
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| (Uh, brr, doot doot doot doot doot doot)
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| (Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom) Catching all 70
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| (Brr) It’s 50 in the drum, 20 in the SIG (Brr, boom boom boom boom)
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| Catching all 70 (Doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot
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| doot doot doot doot)
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| Look, still spit it the hardest, ain’t nothing changed
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| I drink a cup of pain while I fluff the 'caine
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| You a sucker and a lame, we ain’t the fucking same
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| A rapper mention my name, I’ma bust his brain
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| Yeah, every nigga from my block a savage
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| Rob and popping ratchets, dropping caskets, we are not your average
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| I got shot in my top but it ain’t stop the passion
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| I just got up and got shit popping, I kept dropping classics
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| Eight hundred for my Versace glasses
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| Teaching my youngins how to break up the bricks, call it karate classes
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| Drop the top on the Aston out in Calabasas
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| Bitch ass so fat, she hopped out and it stopped the traffic
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| Huh, I was just at NOBU eating lobster with Jasmine
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| Racks and pocket diamonds in the watch was flashing
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| Talking crazy, nigga, I know how to stop the madness
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| I’ma just have El Camino pop his cabbage
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| They ain’t give me shit when they was rapping blocks in plastic
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| Now they hurting and I’m up, they had to watch it happen
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| Get out of pocket, nigga, watch what happens
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| Choppers blasting, shots not stopping 'til your top get splashing
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| Griselda, we ‘bout to lock this shit
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| It’s funny how niggas hating on my accomplishments but ain’t accomplished shit
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| See, I’m a real nigga and you the opposite
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| The whole summer, my young boys chopping shit
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| Griselda, nigga
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| I’m riding with my fourth felony
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| I know niggas with bodies who talk pleasantly
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| It’s 50 in the drum, 20 in the SIG
|
| And if I’m lucky, you catching all 70
|
| (Uh, brr, doot doot doot doot doot doot)
|
| (Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom) Catching all 70
|
| (Brr) It’s 50 in the drum, 20 in the SIG (Brr, boom boom boom boom)
|
| Catching all 70 (Doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot
|
| doot doot doot doot)
|
| It’s 50 in the drum, 20 in the SIG
|
| And if I’m lucky, you catching all 70
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| Woo
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| It’s 50 in the drum, 20 in the SIG
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| Nigga, catching all 70 |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song All 70 , by - Benny the Butcher. Song from the album Tana Talk 3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп