Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Weeks, artist - Kevin Gates. Date of issue: 28.10.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Weeks |
| I ain’t took my chains off in weeks |
| If I tuck it, they gon' try to kill me anyway |
| And I’m prayin' to the god of the streets (God of the streets) |
| Way too big to be discreet anyway |
| Hope I fly on the arms of my niggas (Arms of my niggas) |
| Wonder why my heart cold, nigga soul got the shivers |
| Baby, I ain’t took my chains off in weeks (Off in weeks) |
| Love that shit too big to be discreet (To be discreet) |
| He tried to set me up in Dallas, broke into his own car (Hahahaha) |
| He not knowin' that I’m psychic, and I glow in the dark |
| Lied on us while in Houston, we got throwed in the cross |
| Sidestepping 'fore he could set me, punch a hole in my heart (Ha) |
| Cold quarantine game, I looked over your flaws |
| Big god, sellin' raw and I’m controllin' the cost (Ugh) |
| Diamonds on my neck, that’s a symbol of success |
| Run you up a check, you gon' die for your respect |
| Cautious who you entertain, they could be a threat |
| Out of pocket, pull up brrrr on you, leave you somewhere stretched (Stretched) |
| Artificial dealers, all my visions then got clearer |
| I cross one in the mirror, I’m could feel it in my spirit (Ooh) |
| I ain’t took my chains off in weeks |
| If I tuck it, they gon' try to kill me anyway |
| And I’m prayin' to the god of the streets (God of the streets) |
| Way too big to be discreet anyway |
| Hope I fly on the arms of my niggas (Arms of my niggas) |
| Wonder why my heart cold, nigga soul got the shiver |
| Baby, I ain’t took my chains off in weeks (Off in weeks) |
| Love that shit too big to be discreet (To be discreet) |
| G-Wag', G-Wag', big bag, big bag |
| Brr-brr, so much machine smoke |
| Ooh only ones that ride beside me are the ones willin' to die though |
| Now I keep it underwater, just let it breathe |
| Right there |
| Just got this brand new thing, grrrah |
| And then it exchange when the shots fired |
| Reportin' live with the Glock .9 by the Southside (Well, what up? Well) |
| Recordin' live, bitch I’m in the studio right now (Money 'bout) |
| In Carolina, you could pull up on me right now (Pull up on me right now) |
| We outside, yeah, ayy |
| Hol' up, pour up (You dig?) |
| I glisten hard, my earrings, dawg |
| This for Mazzi, Rollie, I never take my chain off (Chain off) |
| Never talkin', I give that, already take your brain off (Brain off) |
| Quarter milli' glist', then I wiped it on my wrist |
| He be shootin' shots at Brasi but his posture not like this, bitch |
| I ain’t took my chains off in weeks |
| If I tuck it, they gon' try to kill me anyway |
| And I’m prayin' to the god of the streets (God of the streets) |
| Way too big to be discreet anyway |
| Hope I fly on the arms of my niggas (Arms of my niggas) |
| Wonder why my heart cold, nigga soul got the shivers |
| Baby, I ain’t took my chains off in weeks (Off in weeks) |
| Love that shit too big to be discreet (To be discreet) |
| G-Wag', G-Wag', big bag, big bag |
| Brr-brr, so much machine smoke |
| G-Wag', G-Wag', big bag, big bag |
| Brr-brr, so much machine smoke |