Chain of Command

歌詞

Nino Breeze Big Tony H-Town Let's pour up somethin' (Maybach Music) Dick suck with my head back Blue hat and my red slab Gold Vogues, I'm jet lagged Old hoes, I don't text back Ridin' 'round through H-Town Choosin' hoes from the waist down Taxin' niggas for the fake smiles Celebrate as a cake, pal Half a mil' in my ragtop Race a nigga like NASCAR What you niggas so mad for? Rollin' weed out a glass jar Pretty bitches, I piss on I'm outside 'til the bricks gone Shop online and I get somethin' Bottom line, my bitch comin' First round, my draft pick Pass the hookah to a bad bitch Belaire bottle, that's that shit (Belaire bottle, that's that shit) Ricky Ross is my nickname Caught a charge and my bitch came Blame it all on my dick game Double-M, ain't shit change (Nah) I been had- I been had my lil' pain (I been had my lil' pain) I been had my lil' swag (I been had my lil' swag) I been playin' with that cash (I been playin' with that shit) I been had all the bad hoes Audemars to Cartiers, I been had those Hottest nigga in the city, I been that, though And had these niggas in they feelings, what you mad for? Probably 'cause I'd catch a body 'bout my cash flow Deposit like Illuminati how they snatch soul See, I be wantin' all the drama on some creep shit So I can go to droppin' demos where you sleep, bitch Peep this, Forgiatos and they deep dish Ain't no weakness, you ain't strong enough to beef with Highly recommend you miss a nigga with the sneak diss Have the 40 starin' in your face like a bee lip (Ayy) And I got a rap nigga BM all in my DM Some niggas say they wanna be Mike, I wanna be him I wanna flood the city with pipes, I feel like Ewing I want a hundred mil' in my life like Master P them I want the baddest bitch in the game, I want me some paper Not a drop of ho in my blood, that's not in my nature I'ma put a hole in your mug, the fuck I'ma play for? How you still playin' me pussy? Then I'm gon' shake ya Boss gloss on my Vogues tires Twelve racks for the four-nines Boss gloss on my Vogues tires Twelve racks for the four-nines Desert Eagle weigh four pounds West Good Bank where it goes down H-Town, this for the city Told you niggas wasn't fuckin' with me Takin' off like the Houston Rockets And Acres Home, they comin' with me (Maybach Music) Thick thot don't wanna stop givin' me top up in the drop Get the drop, one phone call, have them Hoovers runnin' up in your spot Play with them, but don't play with me, keep a knife and AK with me In the trap, keep yay with me and two young niggas that stay with me Metal-grain strap when you see me, 7.62s fly, Chopper City, B.G. Cop a 396 off one GC Bunk baby, sippin' on syrup like sweet tea Wockhardt mixed with Fanta Y City dead slow, headed to the Camper Real-life stepper, never been no rapper Head the game with a run, wasn't no pleasure Pull up on your block and make OG cowards, I don't really even need no strap From the north to the south, got the city on lock, on some real G shit, no cap, nigga