| Yeah
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| Clockin' paper
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| You know what I’m talkin' 'bout
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| Clockin' paper
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| From Cali to New York City
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| Clockin' paper
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| Yeah, fuck you talk if you ain’t talkin' paper
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| We be breakin' down the work on my mama table
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| All day, high, drunk and clockin' paper
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| Fuck you talkin' 'bout nigga if you ain’t talkin' paper
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| All day, ridin' clean, smokin' purple
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| All day, play with me and they gon' hurt you
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| All day, there’s nothin' but paper on my mind
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| All day, shawty do it for the Vine
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| Ridin' clean, smokin' purple
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| Play with me and they gon' hurt you
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| Ain’t no squares in my circle
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| Mixin' Xans with the dirty, smokin' purple
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| Stripper bitches burnin' out bank accounts
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| Yeah, we wrap raw cut with wet paper towel
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| That’s grow talk, I bought a whole block
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| And I ain’t talkin' 'bout blow, I got grow spots
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| I pulled 23 mil out my old spot
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| I came a long way from the stove top
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| I still get busy, count money 'til I’m dizzy
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| Load a full truck up, it’s a quick 650
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| Bullet-proof truck in a S5−50
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| Got lemonade pounds out in New York City
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| I’ma flex with the pack, I get 5 grams for 'em
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| Right across the street when I land in the mornin'
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| Coke boy seats, not a damn stain on 'em
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| Throwin' bitches in the crib, pour champagne on 'em
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| Yeah, fuck you talk if you ain’t talkin' paper
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| We be breakin' down the work on my mama table
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| All day, high, drunk and clockin' paper
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| Fuck you talkin' 'bout nigga if you ain’t talkin' paper
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| All day, ridin' clean, smokin' purple
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| All day, play with me and they gon' hurt you
|
| All day, there’s nothin' but paper on my mind
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| All day, shawty do it for the Vine
|
| Ridin' clean, smokin' purple
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| Play with me and they gon' hurt you
|
| Ain’t no squares in my circle
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| Mixin' Xans with the dirty, smokin' purple
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| Brown bag money, stuff it in the wall
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| Dirty money, I’m a LAX tryna duck the dog
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| I’m still dirty, fuck a rap check
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| I was first class chillin' when the pack left
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| I need a fresh pair of gloves and a address
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| I got 6 cellphones, hope the pack flex
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| I still get money, bitch, you’re weed man love me
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| Yeah, I keep the big bills, re-cop with the 20s
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| I’m a real street cat, in the drop with the bunny
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| Xanax bars and the cup’s all muddy
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| I hit the A-Town, we got rich in Atlanta
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| I’m in the H-Town with French Montana
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| Cook smoke in the air with the coke boys
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| Young motherfucker, yeah, I’m a dope boy
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| Yeah, fuck you talk if you ain’t talkin' paper
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| We be breakin' down the work on my mama table
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| All day, high, drunk and clockin' paper
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| Fuck you talkin' 'bout nigga if you ain’t talkin' paper
|
| All day, ridin' clean, smokin' purple
|
| All day, play with me and they gon' hurt you
|
| All day, there’s nothin' but paper on my mind
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| All day, shawty do it for the Vine
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| You already know what I’m talkin' 'bout, man
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| Brown bag money, pickin' up 200, 3, 4, 500 thousand at one time
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| Ridin' round, cop keep behind me, I ain’t even trippin' though
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| If he put his lights on, I’m dippin' yo
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| It’s Big Bay Area business
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| You know I went from coke money to hoe money
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| Grow money to show money
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| To Hemp2O money
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| Yeah |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Clockin , by - Berner. Song from the album Packs, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп