Lyrics Red Bottoms - Dave East

Red Bottoms

They think the Feds got ‘em
My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em
My b*tch addicted to red bottoms (aww yea!)
Point ‘em out, my youngin head shot ‘em (pow!)
They think the Feds got ‘em
My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em
Come from the block, now we headlinin' (from the block!)
Point ‘em out, my youngin head shot ‘em
Like Earl Manigault, the block jumpin'
You was soft, gettin' money made you stop pumpin' (stop that, my n*gga)
Quarter pound, broke it down, I supply onions (Os!)
They’ll never have your back, probably die frontin'
Me and Rico, that’s a kilo!
(Rico!)
Slidin' through the heights, me Gutter, Mac and Lethal
Black Balenciagas, hundred dollars on the free throw
Summertime indictment, get excited, I’m ‘a reload
You ain’t never came up in the gutter
Everybody selling butter and them snitches undercover (uh!)
Locos trappin' out of spot on the DS
It don’t matter, summer, spring or winter, n*gga we fresh
Got a couple dollars, told my jeweler I’m ‘a holler
Radio copped the Impala, make my pound, like he eat next
Got maxed the Rollie, my youngins 'll take your arm for it
Passed it to my shooter, he ain’t even have to call for it
That money, n*gga we all for it
Any gun you want on deck, just make a call for it (any gun!)
On the block, posted like a small forward (posted!)
I be excitin' my women, your b*tches all bored (hah!)
We was into movin' powder like a chalkboard
I’m tryin' to park Mazerattis while you park Fords (errrr!)
You was cuttin' up your work, we gave ‘em all raw
Knockin' off this pack of Molly, rockin' Tom Fords (ah!)
My b*tch addicted to red bottoms
Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (prrrrr!)
Come from the block, now we headlinin' (from the block!)
My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em (hello?)
My b*tch addicted to red bottoms (Christians!)
Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (head shot!)
Come from the block, now we headlinin' (Eastside!)
My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em (no!)
They think the Feds got ‘em
My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em
My b*tch addicted to red bottoms
Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (prrrrrrr!)
They think the Feds got ‘em (no!)
My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em
Come from the block, now we headlinin' (from the block!)
Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (blah!)
I’ve seen that angel dust leave the block naked
Surround sound through your town, drop vibratin' (ugh!)
I was born with it, you ain’t got it, prob’ly die hatin' (hah!)
Summer time, Lenox Ave, prob’ly tri-state him (uptown!)
Them b*tches wanna f*ck, I’m thinkin' «why date ‘em?»
(why?)
Pounds flip, I’m with my brown b*tch, so now I laid the (uh!)
Penthouse up in the clouds, sh*t skyscrapin'
Feds got the block bakin', paper I can’t stop chasin'
Cocaine cookin', kitchen smellin' like bleach (woo!)
Every block I go, these n*ggas tell me I’m the streets (Gotti!)
Sippin' Margheritas with a diva on the beach
Love static, catch a n*gga in traffic, I feel like Reese (bang!)
Denim the supplier, I’ve been in the dope spot
Fiends noddin', knockin' Stevie Ribbon in the Sky (ah!)
Woke up with your b*tch, she let me hit it from the side
Conversatin' with my loc, he said he crippin' ‘till he die (loc!)
Bury n*ggas alive like Pesci and his brother (uh!)
Middle of the desert, send that picture to their mother
I was Young Thuggin' ‘fore I heard of Danny Glover
Oil’s burnin', I can smell it, f*ck breakfast, we got butter
Two b*tches from Texas in a Lexus, me and Butter
That’s my Queens n*gga, treat my momma like his mother
Flagrant ass rappers, most these n*ggas undercover
Pillow talkin' to them b*tches ‘till them n*ggas under covers (light it!)
My b*tch addicted to red bottoms
Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (line ‘em!)
Come from the block, now he headlinin' (yea!)
My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em (hello?)
My b*tch addicted to red bottoms
Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (all them!)
Come from the block, now he headlinin' (from the block!)
My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em (hello?)
They think the Feds got ‘em
My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em
My b*tch addicted to red bottoms
Point ‘em out, my youngin head shot ‘em
They think the Feds got ‘em
My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em
Come from the block, now we headlinin'
Point ‘em out, my youngin head shot ‘em