Lyrics Fuck Fader - Danse, Tray Pizzy

Fuck Fader

Hey everybody how are you doing?
This is my friend Mr. Gun, My special guest
Smith & Wesson says get your ass down
This is a stickup, real deal, real gun, full cooperation and no one gets done
You have to listen to words, because thats what I say… — Stop fucking rapping
man this is the real thing!
Young enough to hit your sister
Old enough to hit your mother dog
I’ll piss til you burn alive on that hover board
How you 40 and you just turned blood beloved?
Aim for your nose, leave a hole one inch above it
Im 6'1, 170, puff heavily
From Marborough between Cortelyou & Beverley
Kill the 1st one that ain’t in none of your pictures
OG told me thats the one that’ll get you
I just caught 30,000 bins on the arm
That could buy me the Fader cover and I’ll be on
But fuck Fader and any writer that sniffs salt
Never met a journalist GD at Pitchfork
I be in places you can’t Snap Chat
40 niggas in 40 belows all blacks straps
You eating cereal, they shaving serials off that
Before I serve a feen I bet I’m making them snort crack
Pops told me click that back
When niggas try to jump you, Aim and split that hat
It’s Flatbush
I steal nigga, I don’t trap
Rubber grip, I don’t slip, I don’t lack
That’s a fact
1st it was the shmoney dance
Now everybody dabbin in them funny pants
Niggas praying I don’t pop like a bungee band
Mothafucka In your face is where the lungy lands
You know my name side, know my side, know my set
Look nigga know my fly, see my jet
No nigga, you get fly then you get wet
Team Nike, I say ride then you get checked
Ride!
Flex drop a bomb over Baghdad
Ask your dad’s dad I been in my bag bag
Whipping in the kitchen like it’s bad bad
Body niggas you can put them in a Glad bag
Tell them niggas it’s a stickup
A chest shot will hit them like a hiccup
Get a road we gon' drag him with the pickup
Headshots we don’t want to fuck his strip up
All we want is our respect
And our Brooklyn niggas shooting shit and its nothing but net
Danse these niggas don’t want to dance
Put them in wheelchairs these niggas don’t stand a chance
I knock a block off with that block soft
Got my rocks off because I was doing drop offs
All i wanted was a gun and a drop Porsche
Now that’s an and1 with the Hot Sauce
I cross over like PitBull, the clip full
You trying to guard God, you going to get your card pulled
80 block, Broke and Trippy grab your blicky
All you niggas can walk because we running the city
Eat!
Y’all made these blog writers rock stars
Paying them for a post saying you got bars
Retaining them, like they lawyers and you just got charged
Praying to a punk with the pen nigga that’s not God
A label asked me, you been up on Fader yet?
I told them «nah because I ain’t pay that retainer yet»
6k a month?
nah this AK will jump
I don’t rock Thrasher you Bastard, you sniff a 8th of bumps
Uhhh, and I don’t like that shit
Don’t spit it like its you if you ain’t write that shit
Just because you don’t see a ramp, don’t mean your bike can’t flip
Because you could fucking get left off a right hand click
It fucks me up when a nigga gets shot who ain’t supposed to go
Like I set the pick and he popped when he was supposed to roll
Summertime, used to play the freezer in western beef
For AC, now it’s AC with extra heat
Pook uptop, with minute rice in a blue bowl
Black spoon, you know that he mixing it wit the pulpo
I still got the jugo
I be in traffic with drops on my iWatch nigga to snatch your Hublot
Because fuck staying patient
When you from a place where you inhaling the air and the Fragrance is so
flagrant
And it’s so blatant that satan is advocating this hating
And wing niggas are advocating this faking
Rap turned to wrestling and wrestling is all fake
Until you Blue Blazer the fake shit and real blood hits the apron
Ask Nashawn if I was on Vyse Ave
Brooklyn nigga, but uptown love my swag
Word to Doe and word to Dark and them
I ain’t with the bitch shit, but This shit’ll spark when it bark and I’m
Candace Park’n em
Yeah, it’s Double D, no Teta Pad
Y’all niggaas must’ve smoked a Wepa Bag
Thinking you this nice