Glock Yuh, ay
It’s Glizock and Guwop
We so icy nigga, you not
Pistol in the party, the young niggas with me too hot
I ran it up no bank account, I still fit in the shoebox
9th grade with them thangs, I feel like a trap god
Long live my nigga Flippa,
bitch you see these blue rocks
I can’t put no money in my denim
it’s just too much Everytime you see me
I got some new ice and like two cups Ay,
not from Milwaukee
or from Tampa Bay these blue books
It’s cool
I think Glizock on this combo goin’ be hard to stop
Zone sifting, south Memphis,
told that pistol lock a cop
Won’t give me my flowers,
I rewarded myself and bought a watch
Took the fork and scraped the pot
it’s off the ‘ot, I shaked the pot
I can’t put no money in no niggas
who ain’t worth it though
Confiscated my necklace ‘
cuz these suckers didn’t deserve it yo
17 summers later, showing no signs of falling out
I didn’t even imagine
I’d be balling how I’m balling now
Niggas tried to count me out
They miscounted the wrong amount
Killers talk, don’t ring them up
It’s random if I bring them out
Oh you got a crash damnit,
think before you save your mouth
His brain up on the dashboard,
we all see what you think about
It’s Glizock and Guwop
We so icy nigga, you not
Pistol in the party, the young niggas with me too hot
I ran it up no bank account, I still fit in the shoebox
9th grade with them thangs, I feel like a trap god
Long live my nigga Flippa,
bitch you see these blue rocks
I can’t put no money in my denim
it’s just too much Everytime you see me
I got some new ice and like two cups Ay,
not from Milwaukee
or from Tampa Bay these blue books
Yuh
Maybe I give too much
Mothafuckin’ money so I gotta pay a tutor
I’m still the same nigga
the only thing that money grew up
It be the same niggas to my side
and they shootin’ up
Yeah bitch I’m all about my bread, every crouton
Yeah I just cut a check
and bitch off like a coupon
Yeah dead guys in my pad,
this shit two hunnid’
Ugh, young nigga keep that heat up on ‘em
Jimmy Butler
It’s Glizock and Guwop
We so icy nigga, you not
Pistol in the party,
the young niggas with me too hot
I ran it up no bank account,
I still fit in the shoebox
9th grade with them thangs,
I feel like a trap god
Long live my nigga Flippa,
bitch you see these blue rocks
I can’t put no money in my denim
it’s just too much Everytime you see me
I got some new ice and like two cups Ay,
not from Milwaukee
or from Tampa Bay these blue books