Lyrics Clip Up (Reloaded) - Sheek Louch, Styles P

Clip Up (Reloaded)

Yeah
Donnie
Hey yo, Jada, what up, fam?
Huh, D-Block
Hey you ready, you ready to go in or what?
Yeah, alright, clip up then, nigga
Donnie
Hey yo
Can I get any higher?
They say Sheek on fire
I feel like Def Jam just signed (?)
I been a G since I was chewin' on a pacifer
I keep that Nick Cannon with me, no Mariah
They say the hood is mine
It’s like a nigga was born again to win
Sheek Louch, Donnie Frankenstein
My (?) is pretty as (?), ain’t it?
Porsche Turbo, about to get that bitch painted
Lucky Luciano, a.k.a. Piano Man
It’s the (?) keys, three or four a piece
Percocet Louch, bags of Oxys
These little niggas with me on the dust high
So I recommend your faggot ass to walk by
Or touch the sky
Or pray to Allah
Don Don, I’m all about the mighty dollar
Let’s keep it real, y’all know the deal
I’m worse than that BP oil spill
Ten thousand may get you a walkthrough, a little less dependin' who you talk to
I come through see these (?) lights
I’m a wolf, black version of Twilight
These rap niggas too big, they make-up bright (?)
It’s a rap stick-up, I heard your album
But like the city, I come back (?)
What’chu know about Don Don?
Fully automatic on the shouler with straps on
L dot, O dot, X the projects
Group homes, the chills, the street where we reps
We sorry if this ain’t for iTunes
D-block, this here’s for my goons
Cock back, clip up
Cock back, clip up
Cock back, clip up
Cock back, clip up
Broad day, no mask on, don’t make me clap it
My best customers is Souljah Boy and Ricky (?)
Just Casino, no spades or pitty pats (?)
It’s goin' down in the hood, nigga, plenty action
I’m doin' addition, you doin' subtraction
My crew on a mission, your crew is relaxin'
Guess who in the kitchen?
Guess who movin' packs in?
Public information, these are proven facts
If I ain’t with the O.G.s, I’m down (?), somewhere hot with no breeze
Dinner with young millionaires that sold keys
Now they just sit back, talk shit, and blow trees
My outfit’s unwearable, my shoes don’t fit you, my pain’s unbearable
Niggas that listen to my shit ain’t hearing you
I been that nigga, dawg, you always been terrible
That’s why the label ain’t flarin' (?) you
The day you decide to come through, we airin' you
Cock back, clip up
Cock back, clip up
Cock back, clip up
Cock back, clip up
Get accolades from the crooks
Macro, way before Apple made the book
Real gangster, all the honeys have to take a look
No pets in the buildin' but they have to take a wolf
Get at you but look at you, you’re a (?) on the hook
I’m a gettin' money nigga but I’m grimey with the (?)
Name a block that his jeweler’s on
It’ll be the same block his medulla’s on
New M-5, new Frank Mueller on
Yeah, I’m a boss but I still get my shooter on
Like a kid who you around, I take long shots, NBA shoot-around
Get the homie to pull the hoop around
Get your girl and pull the coup around
The only thing you missin' is the glitter
Follow niggas, we ain’t even talkin' 'bout Twitter
What’chu know about Don Don?
Fully automatic on the shouler with straps on
L dot, O dot, X the projects
Group homes, the chills, the street where we reps
We sorry if this ain’t for iTunes
D-block, this here’s for my goons
Cock back, clip up
Cock back, clip up
Cock back, clip up
Cock back, clip up