| So Icey, boy
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| CEO
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| (SpiffoMadeIt, bitch, aha)
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| (Go)
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| Lately they been comin' at me fakin', it’s been hard to dodge
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| I just copped two Trackhawks and two Chargers, we in love with Dodge (What)
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| All these diamonds on me hittin' me hard like I’ve been fightin' with Floyd
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| (Burr)
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| Put your hands on Gucci Mane, on God, I’m sendin' your ass to God
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| Don’t talk about my enemies, they dead to me, why bring 'em up?
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| This .223 gon' end the beef (Grrra), they slept on me, I woke 'em up (Ooh)
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| AR with the shoulder strap, what that sound like? |
| The NOLA clap
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| Money so retarded, might park my Phantom in a handicap
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| My lil' jit just like shootin' up shit, they don’t even really like to rap (Huh?
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| Ran off on ya, owe you one, the coke was color Doja Cat (It's cream)
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| Guess he thought that Gucci was a ho, I wonder who told him that?
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| Playin' with my backend on the road, got the promoter whacked (Baow)
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| Lately all my new signees got me thinkin' my phone tapped (Well damn)
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| So Icey write they own raps, my artists tote they own straps (Baow)
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| Brand new F8 'Rari, drive that bitch like it got handlebars (Skrrt)
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| Lil' bitch, she a cannibal, ate my dick like an animal (Muah)
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| Lately they been comin' at me fakin', it’s been hard to dodge
|
| I just copped two Trackhawks and two Chargers, we in love with Dodge (What)
|
| All these diamonds on me hittin' me hard like I’ve been fightin' with Floyd
|
| (Burr)
|
| Put your hands on Gucci Mane, on God, I’m sendin' your ass to God
|
| Don’t talk about my enemies, they dead to me, why bring 'em up?
|
| This .223 gon' end the beef (Grrra), they slept on me, I woke 'em up (Ooh)
|
| AR with the shoulder strap, what that sound like? |
| The NOLA clap
|
| Money so retarded, might park my Phantom in a handicap
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| Niggas hang with me, known to push a stick like a janitor (What?)
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| My niggas some predators, a lot of niggas scared of us
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| Beef ain’t really shit to me, a nigga ain’t did shit to me (No)
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| I’m not Billy Batts, but a nigga ain’t takin' shit from me (Nah)
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| Niggas talkin' down on me like they ain’t bought no bricks from me
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| Suckers tryna clown me like they never hit no licks with me (Ha)
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| Ran my M’s up, left the streets, now that’s a flawless victory (Well damn)
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| Lace my cleats and fed the streets, yeah, everybody eats with me (It's Gucci)
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| Lately they been comin' at me fakin', it’s been hard to dodge
|
| I just copped two Trackhawks and two Chargers, we in love with Dodge (What)
|
| All these diamonds on me hittin' me hard like I’ve been fightin' with Floyd
|
| (Burr)
|
| Put your hands on Gucci Mane, on God, I’m sendin' your ass to God
|
| Don’t talk about my enemies, they dead to me, why bring 'em up?
|
| This .223 gon' end the beef (Grrra), they slept on me, I woke 'em up (Ooh)
|
| AR with the shoulder strap, what that sound like? |
| The NOLA clap
|
| Money so retarded, might park my Phantom in a handicap |