Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song 15th and the 1st , by - Gucci Mane. Release date: 04.08.2011
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
15th and the 1st |
| Uhh, uhh |
| Ayy Guc' Mane, we good right now man |
| Get money good man |
| It’s a white girl in town — name is Cocaine |
| It’s some dirty birds in town — Gucci Mane &Waka Flame |
| We fly in, on buy-in, say you got more birds? |
| You lyin |
| You tryin and lyin, you boys ain’t supplyin |
| I pitch like Nolan Ryan, got cocallina flyin |
| My partners stick up kids, duct tape rope they gon' tie in |
| In the bushes they lyed in all night that’s my word |
| By the end of the mornin they left with them birds |
| And I’m gone off that purp', and I’m slurrin my words |
| I swerved in my Benz, bangin my 4G's on the curb |
| The lean, the herb, pay me like the first |
| You cross Brick Squad, get hurt |
| I got work — Gucci |
| My homeboys will get you, pay you on the 33rd |
| Two pints of lean’ll have me slurrin on my words |
| Undertaker car, triple black drop bird |
| Stomach full of money, so hundreds I’ma burp |
| All the hoods love us like the 15th and the 1st |
| Two pints of lean’ll have me slurrin on my words |
| Undertaker car, triple black drop bird |
| Stomach full of money, so hundreds I’ma burp |
| All the hoods love us like the 15th and the 1st |
| Five grand for a head shot |
| Boy don’t be no Flintstone and get yo' (Bedrocked), nigga! |
| Triple red drop, offsets through the parkin lot |
| Where I’m from, young niggaz shootin at the cops |
| Where I’m from, they fakin |
| My hood right side, nigga, green flaggin |
| Lay yo' ass down if you do too much braggin |
| Three case, four Glocks, nigga that’s swaggin, ughh |
| Penalized, then goes the Packer-Man |
| What’cha hell, you would think it was a cracker-man |
| I don’t know 'em bah-bah-bah-bah-back'em man |
| Fuck 'em den! |
| Throw my stash in the club that there’ll do |
| Every girl gettin past you |
| Send an ambulance on that ass I want that rent due |
| Robbin every nigga that ain’t Hit Squad, Blood or Piru |
| FLOCKA! |
| Half a million dollar jewelry like «Fuck that bird!» |
| Niggaz screamin they want beef, I’m like (Roger That)! |
| My album didn’t sell, so I’m layin niggaz down |
| Shootin every nigga, that burst leaves a fuckin frown |
| Forty carats on my bracelet, my Polo black |
| Niggaz talkin like they want beef, I’m wantin that |
| Seven grams in the Swisher, I’m gon' solo that |
| Ridin around with my strap like «Where they at?» |
| All these rap niggaz hold up, stole my Philly hat |
| You will never be a legend like the Gucci Mane |
| You will never be turnt up like my partner Flock' |
| You niggaz hoes I run your block when them choppers chop |