| It’s really what my life like, killer in the limelight
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| La-la, dope smoke, tryna get my mind right
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| '05, poppin' pills, smokin' hella prime time
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| Bitch mad at me 'cause I never seem to find time
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| I was rockin' G-Shocks, had to get my ice right
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| Niggas on the sideline, we do that on shit on eyesight
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| Me and E cutting up, swanged 'em and he bite like
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| Every lil' bitch that I be fuckin' kind of right, right
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| I really live a trife life, got to keep a pipe life
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| Please don’t let him catch you without it or its night-night
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| Used to call him Izod, but now they call him Mozzy
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| All you got to do is drop five or call me for that body
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| Abuse him with the jumper, The Gleeker, he hold Scotty
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| It looked like I was tagging him, I don’t know if I got him
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| (It looked like I was tagging him, I don’t know if I got him)
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| Yeah, they say it take a real man to admit error
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| It’s gon' take a long time 'fore it gets better
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| You know me, I’m from the food stamp, WIC era
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| The four-door five series with the Anteras
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| There’s a lot of things in life that you can’t cherish
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| When the haters in the light, then you can’t flourish (Nah)
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| Can’t sleep good at night 'til your mans perish (Yup)
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| Couple funerals will always give a man leverage
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| Yeah, if it don’t make you perspire, you can’t sweat it
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| Arm strong, dice on fire, you can’t bet it
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| A pastime is chess boards and calisthenics
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| Love seein' coroner vans and paramedics
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| The best to those that befriended me (The best)
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| Even success to all my enemies (Yes)
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| Permanent scars so you remember me
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| This is a real nigga assembly
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| Yeah, check it
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| Imitatin' blow had me traffickin' out that stole-o
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| Seven days straight, clothes lookin' like I’ma hobo
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| I was movin' solo, two choppers off in the four-door
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| Might put a few through your chest, make 'em stitch it up like a logo
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| Run up in the spot, niggas freezin' up like a photo
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| Go to playin' tough, he ain’t work 'em like I was Kodo
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| I used to sit the bench, they ain’t picture me going pro though
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| Now I pulled up on the block throwin' bullets like Tony Romo
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| Money somewhere pilin' up, now I’m on that fuck 'em shit
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| Solid so I’m standing up, nigga, I ain’t duckin' shit
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| I was in the kitchen with it, Tom was trying to cop a brick
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| Homies say the price is right, play and I’ma pop the stick
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| Let it be a issue, home, do no talkin', who harder?
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| Finna' get him soft and find his body floatin' with a dolphin, no coffin
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| Focus the damage and clean your block like a janitor
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| Bitch, you gon' get this work, hit your corner, run 'em like scavengers
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| Probably flight it to Canada, packages come from Panama
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| I’ve been workin' this shit out for 'bout a week, check my stamina
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| Play me out, respect, I’ma pull up and get your, second guess
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| I had 'em paramedics pumpin' your chest
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| Stupid ass
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| For that check, I’ma catch a body
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| I caught him in his lobby on the run for three months
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| I’ma accomplice to a homi'
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| I got a call from Mozzy, drive-bys on Ducatis
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| Trae know I’m the truth, a nigga dyin' if he try me
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| I’m with sliders and they grimy
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| He ain’t had no key, I caught him tryna to buzz in the buildin'
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| Taking too long, got him (Got him)
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| All my moves is Mafia, a descendant of Gotti (Gotti)
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| You tryna to box like Rocky, you’ll be in the box, you copy? |
| (Copy)
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| Mami like, «Ooh, Papi, go down on me sloppy»
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| You bootleg niggas got your style from the swap meet
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| I be doin' meet and greets, pistol clothes
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| Tell Chi Chi to get the coke
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| In real life, you niggas broke, Tyga with the Bocce
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| Eyes lookin' Asian, so fuck it, we order saké
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| Shrimp fried rice, so it was either beef or broccoli (Either or)
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| Real life, I’m with killers, I know they momma though
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| Stick on my body when drama close, vámonos
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| Even when it’s storm headed straight to the money
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| 'Cause I don’t go get it, nobody gon' bring it to me
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| Pussy caught me leakin', nigga tried to bring it to me
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| If you ain’t gonna fly, watch how I bring it to 'em
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| No Whiskey with the shot, you won’t even see it comin'
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| Do the whole dance on your ass, see me comin'
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| Bad bitch double back with the trap, all hunnids
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| Show her how to ball now she sayin' that she love me
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| Keep somethin' on me 'cause shit can get ugly
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| Money in my pocket, I put it on your skully
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| Pull-up doin' hop-outs in the buggy
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| Couples niggas got hit, Lord knows they got lucky
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| Lord knows they got lucky
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| Couples niggas got hit, Lord knows they got lucky
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| Lord knows they got lucky
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| Couples niggas got hit, Lord knows they got lucky |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Line It Up, artist - Mozzy. Album song Fake Famous, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп