Lyrics Nine - Buck Fifty, Bass Santana, flyboy tarantino

Nine

Crackers pull me over, put that .9 in her purse
I’m a Broward County nigga till I’m one with the dirt
Could give a fuck 'bout how you feelin', bitch, the money come first
Got these niggas lookin' sick, I hit 'em right where it hurt (Right where it
hurt)
Crackers pull me over, put the .9 in her purse
I’m a Broward County nigga till I’m one with the dirt (Woo, woo, bitch)
Could give a fuck 'bout how you feelin', bitch, the money come first
Trappin' out the Honda till I cop me a Lamb' (Until I cop me a Lamb')
Do it long as druggies out here coppin' them Xans, okay (Coppin' them Xans)
I don’t need your plug, you must not know who I am (You must not know who I am)
I don’t need your love 'cause that pussy get around (Oh no)
I can’t trust a soul, oh no, not even myself (Not even myself)
I can’t fuck these local bitches kissin' and tellin' (While they kissin' and
tell)
I ain’t switchin' up, I’m tryna make me some millions, wait (Tryna make me some
mill')
Niggas who ain’t focused always stay in they feelings, boo-hoo
I heard certain people still mad at me, I been off it (What?)
Hatin' been played-out for a minute, my nigga, stop it (Oh-woah)
I can’t fall in love with the money unless it’s profit (That bass)
I can’t fall in love with the pussy until she drop it (Okay)
Go ghost, yeah, while they do the most, yeah (While they do the most)
Blow smoke, yeah, you don’t want no smoke, yeah (You don’t want no smoke)
No joke, yeah, you ain’t even close, yeah ()
Fuckin' with my Zoes, got that⁠—woo, got that, hmm
Got these niggas lookin' sick, I hit 'em right where it hurt
Crackers pull me over, put that .9 in her purse
I’m a Broward County nigga till I’m one with the dirt
Could give a fuck 'bout how you feelin', bitch, the money come first
Got these niggas lookin' sick, I hit 'em right where it hurt
Crackers pull me over, put the .9 in her purse
I’m a Broward County nigga till I’m one with the dirt
Could give a fuck 'bout how you feelin', bitch, the money come first