| Really
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| Turn me up some
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| Turn the music up
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| Yeah
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| Uh
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| Narcotics, whole lotta heat like Dragić
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| I’m in the streets like for real, you blog it
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| I put a bag on your head like a hostage
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| 'Bout it (Uh), hate a grown man that gossip (Uh)
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| Givin' my old swag, they gon' jock it
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| I left that in 2012 with phone 'posits
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| Put the Bugatti frames on my eyelids (Woo)
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| Playa nigga, no polish (Woo)
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| A box is mean, no mileage
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| Should hold it down in my knowledge (Uh)
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| Real ones move in silence
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| Lucid dreams, back with my
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| G from the pilot
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| His TP, owe me a solid
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| Scoop my young joints from a college
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| Her and her girlfriend lit (And her girlfriend lit), I let 'em both split the
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| pole
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| I told you bad luck don’t exist (Bad luck don’t exist)
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| I made enough off the flip (Uh)
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| You got fucked off the bricks (Uh)
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| Off point chasin' pussy (Really)
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| Nigga, I
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| the bitch
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| Power of the flower (Uh)
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| Value of the dollar
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| Loyalty kept me in situations
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| Common sense she took me out of
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| My cousin made a mill off Arizona
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| Back in the 90s Chucks was Eddie Bauer
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| I’m talkin' pre-9/11, before the planes hit the towers
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| I get the bread and break it with my people
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| I’m high in the bitch, just look at my pupils
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| My young nigga beat you, I let him abuse you
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| These niggas is little bitches like they poodles
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| came from Ramen noodles
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| I be outside, you at home watchin' Hulu
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| For fifty blue hunnids my young nigga’ll shoot you
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| If you gettin' money I gotta salute you
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| There’s a lot of aroma, no college diploma
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| Packs from Arizona, we brothers like zoners
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| Just hit your bitch, caught the neck, that’s a bonus
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| Yeah, that bitch bad on the 'gram, but she homeless
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| Bracin' that Nissan, ballin' like Keyshawn
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| I hit the bitch and I throw her the peace sign
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| Fiends always hit me whenever they need some
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| I told her to hit up a friend for that threesome (Lord)
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| Pull up to the check, it’s nothin' on my neck
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| AB in my sweats (Cash), I don’t want nothin' but a check
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| Harlem nigga, what the fuck did you expect? |
| (Got me)
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| Big horses on my chest (Pop), pop champagne corks all in the vest (Shit)
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| I’m from the side of town where niggas ride around, make you a mural if you flex
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| We don’t do the disrespect (Nuh-uh)
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| Don’t give a fuck who was in your set
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| Shooters at your neck, blues give me a check (Bandits)
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| Got that '92
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| Kobe vest under
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| I’ma keep gettin' this loaf 'til next summer
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| Just like I did last winter 'cause I’m that nigga (Ah)
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| Trap nigga turned rap nigga (Facts)
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| And I passed on shorty, got her friend 'cause her ass bigger
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| (Yeah, Lord)
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| Cash getter, he put together the play like a coach
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| I’m the hitter in CMG with the thang in the coat
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| Oh, you pickin' your favorite, I’ll make an arrangement with the coach
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| She said she could swallow the whole thing and then she choke, woah (Uh)
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| The hardest
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| findin' me is harder than findin' Nemo
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| Now all the trolls tryna clock me like Chino
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| nigga, get a brick like he Deebo
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| I’ma pull up in all black, I ain’t emo
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| Your man’s a fiend, he could sniff a whole kilo
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| But I ain’t trippin'
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| Work was unreal, now that’s science fiction
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| They ain’t even realized that the guy was missin'
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| Alchemist totin' full metal, aye, go get the shovel, I’m through being mellow
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| with you
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| Nigga, you dance and your broadie upstairs so I guess they gon' meet up in
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| Heaven with you
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| Have a issue, got a calculater
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| You a dark knight, then I’ma douse you later
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| Old games, yo, without the SEGA
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| I need 5 G’s like I got the data
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| Yeah, yeah, bitch |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song 100 Years In The Duffle , by - Smoke DZA. Song from the album Homegrown, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп