| Raf Simons cost me five slips
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| That Goyard bag another five strip
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| You in Detroit and see a Wraith, nigga that’s my shit
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| Would’ve pushed Rico’s shit back, I am not Mitch
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| Helluva made this beat, baby
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| Gettin' money, why these niggas gettin' mad?
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| Jump off the plane with a couple of M’s in the bag
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| If anybody play with me, it’s numbers on their head
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| We ain’t gon' talk about it though, that’s the end of that
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| Trappin', I’m still into that, address, I can send you that
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| So if my label drop me, I can still look like I rap
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| Know a couple of niggas livin' like they got platinum plaques (Aha)
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| All they doing is catchin' bags, sendin' out and sittin' back (aha)
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| Rose Presi' on my wrist, I can afford that (nice shit)
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| Back in the day, I couldn’t even look toward that
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| When I was broke, I couldn’t even look toward the bitch
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| Now she suck my dick and don’t say shit when I record the bitch (catch that)
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| Been on the indictment list, tryna see the Forbes list
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| Went from playin' with joysticks to out in traffic blowin' sticks (Graa)
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| When your fans gets your name tatted, then you know you lit
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| Stank from my cologne, I’ma fuck her if she snort the drip (aha)
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| Promise my brother I’ma stack and get this paper right
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| But I’m spendin' 60k a month just on everyday life
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| When you that bag, everybody wanna whirl it
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| Problems they got, they gon' call you like you 'caused 'em
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| Fall up in the club, I can rain 'till it’s morning
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| Start in every game 'cause at practice, I’ve been ballin' (swish)
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| Heard a couple niggas wanna put me on my shit (what)
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| Tell 'em pull up with them sticks and let 'em hit, you better not miss, bitch
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| I know some Crips, know some Tree Tops
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| Name good, I ain’t never sold no re-rock (never sold no re-rock)
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| All these colors in my chain like a peacock
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| I let that .40 slam 'till it decock
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| Ridin' through my old hood, with some new money
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| Blue money, they that mad? |
| Tell 'em do somethin' (come do something nigga)
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| Got three Tennis chains, and like two Presi’s
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| Three choppas, four Glocks, this shit too heavy (shit'll get too messy)
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| Key to the pad, key to the Rolls, key to the bag
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| I got the key to the streets, don’t get a key put on your ass
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| When I do that, you know them niggas gon' knock you in half
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| Heavy cash load, got my back broke
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| Bitches on the East, and on the West Coast
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| Sent me pics and videos, you can’t get my passcode
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| Ten up in the motor, got the hood broke
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| Bitch, don’t get yo' head painted, you gon' look like Lil Boat (painted red)
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| Ridin' through Atlanta with my nigga Lil Boat (Lil Boat)
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| Niggas trailin' us and you know what they good for
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| 'Bout to fly to Cali and look for that good dope
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| If you 'bout that life, then what you lookin' shook for?
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| Told my lil bro, I had to chase M’s, .40 on me, all big face bills
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| In the back of the Mulsanne, lettin' the space build
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| If the police flip me with this Glock, I’ma face ten (skrt)
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| I ain’t supposed to be the shooter, I’m on top
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| But I still let it spray like it’s 4 days into July
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| I’ve been runnin' red light in my city, I know it’s hot
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| I’d rather take the ticket, niggas want my top, it’s so many opps
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| I know some Crips, know some Tree Tops
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| Name good, I ain’t never sold no re-rock (never sold no re-rock)
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| All these colors in my chain like a peacock
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| I let that .40 slang 'till it decock (bloaw, bloaw)
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| Know some BD’s, I know some gangsta’s
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| Get outta line and they a spank ya (and they a spank ya)
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| Know some Pirus, know some head-bangers
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| Know some Sex Money Murda niggas that’ll paint ya (gang, gang, gang, gang) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Colors , by - Tee Grizzley. Song from the album Activated, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп