Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Dead Beat, artist - Yung Simmie. Date of issue: 13.04.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Dead Beat |
| Man these nigga’s faker than silicon titties |
| And I expose the fake too much realness in me |
| I pour up the Henny, I smoke til I’m dizzy |
| Stuffin the Philly, your girl on my dick while I’m doing my thizzy |
| Like I was Drizzy, nothing was the same but my name is Simmie |
| Your girl give me brain while I’m speedin the Hemi |
| But nigga’s don’t hear me til I get it trippin' now you hit with the Semi |
| I’m puttin' in a clip and I’m a rip til it’s empty |
| I’m pointing at your head and you can’t run cause you stranded |
| You fucking with a savage and my rug will do damage |
| I give you the package, I give you the work |
| I’m an OG smoker I don’t fuck with the purp |
| I embarrass these nigga’s now they call me the jerk |
| These joke ass nigga’s ain’t putting in work |
| Meanwhile I go to work like my name on my shirt |
| Cause you know I gotta get it cause I came from the dirt |
| Mamma said bless them I’m a take them to church |
| Now I’m schooling these nigga’s better tuck in your shirt |
| Now my main bitch keep a shank in the purse |
| Cause you won’t catch me slipping she gon' cut you first |
| I’m always strapped it was under my shirt |
| Move and get merked now your face on the shirt |
| Simmie be the nigga leave beats in the hearse |
| It’s a lyrical race and I just came in first |
| I let my money talk I can never converse |
| To a lame ass nigga who can never convert |
| To a real ass nigga that you hear on this verse |
| I give it to you live you just heard that shit first |
| I’m a give your bitch some water and she keep with the thirst |
| I’m a make your bitch my bitch and keep my work in her purse |
| Stunt on my haters I ball like the Lakers |
| Dunking on haters I’m tall as the rim if I stand on my paper |
| I came to eat but I’m serving these nigga’s like I am the waiter |
| Call Tony Hawk cause I’m grinding I’m grinding like I am a skater |
| Ducking the cops I’m a speed in my foreign like I am a racer |
| If it’s beef then I eat you up later |
| We can’t speak if it ain’t about paper |
| Cause all of my nigga’s want it |
| All of my nigga’s on it |
| All of my nigga’s ready |
| They like where the fuck my opponent |
| They comin and now you running |
| Bandcamp drummers drumming |
| Headcount hunters hunting |
| Grindtime countin hundreds |
| Flex time hella stunting |
| Loudpack smell like onions |
| Marked up hella mugging |
| Gold teeth hella thugging |
| In the cut rolling up something |
| Black shades on I ain’t worried about nothing |
| Smoking OG you ain’t got what I’m puffing |
| That straight from the plug and I told him to stuff it no seeds when I cop it |
| Gotta stay lowkey cause them haters is watching |
| But you nigga’s don’t get it so I’m changing the topic |
| I’m on my own plane smoking blunts in the cockpit |
| My hitters pop shit you duck and drop shit |
| Eyes on me on my 2Pac shit |
| Feelin' like Hitman on my two Glock shit |
| I’m trying to keep cool like too hot shit |
| So I’m chillin in the pool with like 2 hot chicks |
| I’ve been in the game I’m the rap Mike Vick |
| Flow too sick got haters looking sick |
| Nigga’s falling off they ain’t sticking to the script |
| I ain’t falling off I’m a keep it on my hip |
| King of the South but my name ain’t tip |
| Got your bitch in my ride and we going for a trip |
| If you look me in my eyes you gon' see I never trip |
| I roll up a blunt puff piff, blessed with the gift to spit lyrical clips |
| My mind flips I load up and spit mind clips |
| Now I forgot how I got here but I ain’t worried about that |
| Hold this dead beat I’ll be back |