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Versuri ASAP Ferg – East Coast Remix lyrics

East Coast Remix versuri A$AP Ferg

Run it up, run it up, run it up, run it up (remix)
F*ck that sh*t, we get turnt ’til the sun is up
All of you n*ggas get burnt when the gun is up
This that East Coast motherf*cker
Call me Mr. East Coast motherf*cker
Let me give them a friendly reminder real quick, yo

Y’all already know the god gotta talk
Every single time I come you n*ggas know I gotta do it
Yes I gotta do it and I gotta kill em and I gotta hit em
Yes you know a n*gga gotta beat em stupid
Only got 41 seconds just to give a n*gga sh*t
Every second b*tch I gotta use it
Some wack, a n*gga blew it and I cannot
Grab the microphone and not make a motherf*cker lose it
And I make n*ggas jump in the back
N*ggas up, she in the back of the truck
Lil’ mommy wanna f*ck and she really wanna s*ck
When I finish with it then we go in the back of the club
And we do this sh*t again my n*gga, pronto
Bip-de-badda-de-booda-de-beat it like a bongo
B*nging on the pussy like a n*gga named Alonzo
Head game crazy, that make her the head honcho
Mad cause I took his b*tch and now he thinks he macho?
Somebody better call the cops yo
‘Fore we run up inside of that n*gga’s lil’ condo
Put him in a box so the n*gga in a cargo (cargo, cargo)
Shut a n*gga down (fake b*tch)
Throw a bottle at ya, shut a n*gga mouth (break sh*t)
Come and follow me, stand up on the couch (shake sh*t)
Let us wallow, n*ggas know we’re in the house (trey fifth)
East Coast n*gga!

10031 is where my zip is
Livin how I live up in the trenches
Run through a bodega like I ain’t got riches
Run through a bodega like I ain’t got (come on)
Don’t do it for the haters, I do it for the b*tches
My flow Al-Qaeda, I kill rap n*ggas
Y’all Now and Laters, sweet ass-n*ggas
Soon as you get famous, they wanna ass-kiss
Only thing that I’m missing is Hov verse (JAY-Z)
I get a feeling, they want the old Ferg
“Cocaine Castle”, “Hood Pope” Ferg
Got a question to ask, do you know Ferg?
Do you know that I come from where the toast burn?
New York, New York, I run for dirt
On Hungry Ham up on the corner
Fiends taste the lean, they never sober
For being in the streets to run a culture
I never been in the weave, I had hoes, brah
Who’s that jiggy motherf*cker with the clothes, brah?
I’m finna kill these motherf*ckers with the flow, brah
I’m the best in the game with the flow, brah
In New York I Milly Rock to Magnolia
I love the East but shoutout to every coast, brah
South to North and even West Coast, brah

Blackin’ like I’m fresh out from retirement
My flow still monumental
Mental, couldn’t ride an instrumental but they ridin d*ck
I set the standard for requirements, so call the firemen
Just me, myself and I, the world is mine, I put the “I” in his
His posse too clean, his diamonds like tip
His skin too clear, his b*tch gon’ stare
So mind your biz, how they find the time for minding mine
I find these college chicks for top with Kylie’s lips
Oh my, oh my (running)
Running, running like you want it (running)
Running, running like you stole it (running)
Running, running like I’m going (woo)
Running, pitching like I’m bowling (woo)
In my city, gangs run the inner city
Load a semi for the chiddy b*ng
Flacko, Fergie, Frenchie with the bitties
Hit up Remy for the pretty gang

Lately I feel like a Beatle
I’m Paulie McCartney just rocking Moschino
Moscato or Pinot
I got some b*tches to hop in the Regal, phenomenal deep throat
I’m more Ali than Muhammad
My noodles was Ramen, go Google my diamonds
I got some shooters in college
I feel like a coach, I’m recruiting and signing
Look, I still be moving in silence
I’m ballin’ in blue like I’m hooping in Dallas
B*tch I don’t play for no Mavericks
You need to think who gon’ pay for your casket
Ignorant bastard
But I’m still conscious enough to give hope to the masses
Watch the coke do gymnastics
Dominique Dawes, foreign my car when I’m mashin’

Chain busting it down, wrist busting it down
Your b*tch busting it down, rap game up f*cking it now
I could be a jeweler, neck on Slick the Ruler
You n*ggas is comedy, talking fast like Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
KRS-One, Big L flows
Son of a gun with the Buffalo
Head on my wrist is a P1
Made more money than E1
One time Chinx, two time Yams (Yams)
Get the money slide like a violin
You know my n*gga Max almost home
You know we run the East Coast zone n*gga

In the kitchen culinary, I could whip a Bloody Mary
And I wish that blood would dead me, I’ma get your brother burried
Gangb*nging with your halo, business on the payphone
B*tches pussies drying up, like Taz’s Angels
Never was a client, ’cause that boy ain’t buying it
And I got a bottom b*tch, my top come on consignment
Step up from the minor league, double M the dynasty
No I never sold dope, I just got me a finder’s fee
Following my frequency, n*ggas rapping week to week
S*ckers be so weak to me, text but don’t speak to me
You can never speak for me, see the B.I. chemistry
Check into the crazy house, I’ma turn the labels out

Run it up, run it up, run it up, run it up
Run it up, run it up, run it up, run it up (remix)
F*ck that sh*t, we get turnt ’til the sun is up
All of you n*ggas get burnt when the gun is up
This that East Coast motherf*cker
But I know this West Coast (Snoop Dogg)

10-20 was my date of birth, the day I came to Earth
Bottles sipping, love to burp, young n*gga that’s doing dirt
Long Beach across my shirt, all y’all n*ggas gon’ get merked
What the f*ck is you talking ’bout? Me and Ferg, we gon’ put in work
B*ng on ya’ gang culture, out of this world
It’s all on a b*tch, is she a Blood? Is she a Crip?
Don’t slip, think not, on the block where it’s hot
Legalize with the nines, give a f*ck about a cop
Real sh*t, this is it, from the bottom to the Bay
This is anybody K, California all day
Yessir, on the curb, Mossberg by the band
Little homies on the roof with the blam-blam-blam
Long Beach, popping pill on em
I been working so hard, n*gga get your bale on
I been working so hard, n*ggas put the sales on
I been working so hard, welcome to the hellzone, zone
See I’m from Long Beach

Run it up, run it up, run it up, run it up
Run it up, run it up, run it up, run it up (remix)
See I’m from Long Beach
F*ck that sh*t, we get turnt ’til the sun is up
All of you n*ggas get burnt when the gun is up
See I’m from Long Beach
This that East Coast motherf*cker
California motherf*cker, see I’m from Long Beach
Call me Mr. East Coast motherf*cker
West Coast

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