Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Chicago to Memphis, artist - NLE Choppa. Date of issue: 27.01.2022
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Chicago to Memphis |
| Nigga fuck |
| Fuck nigga, fuck nigga, fuck nigga |
| (Run that back, Playboi) |
| Raise the murder rate |
| Anytime a nigga play, we raise the murder rate |
| Broad day, let thirty shots off and we skrrt away |
| Park the car, don’t drop off, I be front line when it pop off |
| When it’s crunch time, make it hot sauce |
| Homicide gon' tape his block off |
| Let the Glock off, knock ya top off, aye |
| Watch 'em fly away |
| Tryna stay up out them streets, I had to fly away |
| Momma pray I’m too deep in the streets to stop, I can’t |
| Really rich, I woke up, thought to buy that watch, I ain’t |
| I bank at five banks |
| In my hood, I’m hall of fame |
| I’m on that nine rank |
| Changed the game up, showed my niggas how to play, I got away |
| Still ain’t put that fye away, you wanna die, just try today |
| My mind right, I’m flying straight |
| I probably walk away |
| Plus I know you niggas hoes, just act tough and talk away |
| Eighteen, got sacked up and strapped up just off a play |
| And I ain’t hiding, I’m in LA, I’m in that Lamb', I’m at valet |
| Aye, switch out the tags and the VIN 'cause I wanna spin again |
| Couple shots in the FN and the rest of 'em in his friend |
| Ain’t enough money in this world that will make me cross a friend |
| Ain’t enough loyalty in this world for you to comprehend |
| Freaky bitch, I beat her back until it bend and it break |
| Gave me head up in the 'Cat, I put the police on the chase |
| Came in her mouth, got away and still ain’t ever hit the brakes |
| Asked her was she fine, she said her hair fucked up but she okay |
| I’m as cutthroat as it get and I’m 'bout grimy as a ho |
| Glizzy gotta match my fit or I ain’t steppin' out the door |
| Thirty shots, it wasn’t enough so I got fifty at the most |
| Scratch the serial up out this bitch, now both of y’all a ghost |
| Get my jewelry from flawless diamonds but my bitch go to Wafi |
| Might get a Urus on perfect timing just to say I bought it |
| Niggas weird, they slick dissin' on me and damn right, I caught it |
| A couple weeks later, we had his mama pickin' coffins |
| This that shit that have you goin' a hundred on the e-way |
| Stop the car, let me out, I left him layin' on the freeway |
| Got niggas shooting behind and after me like it’s a relay |
| Blow his candles at his candle light, call it a murder bday |
| Fuck the score board, nigga, you can check the stat sheet |
| Run shit down like Sha’Carri in a track meet |
| Put 'em in the backseat, then kill 'em on the backstreet |
| Two shooters a tag team, his noodles on concrete |
| Nigga, business is what he standing on |
| Bullets hit his back, tell 'em show it off like it’s Vlone |
| Few things I don’t play about money, and respect, and my jawns |
| You see me, might play around but I got bodies on my dome |
| Shot a nigga at fifteen, I never looked back since |
| Slam a dunk a opp, my arm in the rim like I’m Vince |
| Purple bandana, purple outfit, Purple Rain like I’m Prince |
| I’m a money-making nigga but I can’t go out like Mitch |
| I bet them bullets change the subject |
| Why you stop sucking my dick, bitch? |
| You seen I ain’t nut yet |
| Niggas can talk all they want, I still ain’t been touched yet |
| Brodie tell me chill, he know I kill, but nigga, fuck that |
| 'Cause if ion get 'em, they got me |
| If ion fill 'em they bodied, put 33 in them Scottie, no Pippen |
| Them bullets hit 'em, inject him, we fill 'em like penicillin |
| We put niggas past the ceiling and the sky, giving God a visit |
| Murder, murder, kill it, kill it |
| Dirty thirty filled what’s it in |
| For certain, I’m merking the person thinking that I ain’t with it |
| Close the curtain, hospital visits, we flat |
| Lining them bitches, double back |
| Nine of them niggas hit up his spine, now he Crippin' |