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BlocBoy JB – Prod By Bloc Lyrics

Versuri cantec "Prod By Bloc (Clean Version)" de la BlocBoy JB.

BlocBoy JB – Prod By Bloc

Hah hah check it (word)
Hah hah hah (yeah yeah yeah) check it
(yeah yeah) hah hah (yeah yeah yeah)
Hah (Bloc) hah (whoa) hah (word)

These n*ggas after me
I got them shooters on balconies
I’m gettin’ head from a b*tch and she Japanese (word)
N*ggas they talkin’ I’m loadin’ and clappin’ these
Loadin’ and clappin’ these pistols (pistols)
You are not an automatic hitter (a hitter)
Really you an automatic misser
F*ck it I’ma automatic get you (huh?)
Smack a n*gga ass with the pistol (pistol)
Pop a n*gga ass like a pimple (a pimple)
Store-store-store run get the gun (store run)
Up the Tommy take his funds (he gone)
Take the hundreds leave the ones
For the strippers n*gga (for the strippers)
I got an SK with a shank that’s the tipper n*gga (that’s the tipper)
Beat a n*gga sweep a n*gga
We don’t need them n*ggas (f*ck ‘em)
I don’t think you n*ggas ’bout nothin’ (word)
When I see you in the street (huh?) you ain’t even got a gun
Askin’ n*ggas for money (word) n*gga you ain’t got no funds
You know I do it B-I-G you can call me Big Pun (yeah yeah yeah)
But I don’t smoke no pom-poms
Run up get done up (word)
My clip is so heavy I can’t hold my arm up (my arm up)
Y’all n*ggas faker than warmups (warmups)
I got the bread like a farmer (I-I-I-I)
Shoot like I’m Mario Chalmers (Chalmers)
Workin’ my wrist f*ck my arm up (f*ck my arm up)
I feel like Nash on the Suns Mario chasin’ them corn
You dancin’ we pull up with guns I’m 700 you done (Crip Crip)
Got my hitters in the front like a radiator
Using big words so you know they annihilate you
I’m in her mouth like Now & Laters b*tch I got all flavors
Bring that sh*t back no turntable
Multiply that like times tables
We ain’t got time for that
If you really want a crease use the iron for that
Now a n*gga need a piece of his spinal back
In a line of MAC’s
Ke-ke-keep that keep that iron for that
If it’s an altercation n*gga we use nines for that
We don’t do conversations baby we don’t got time for that
We ain’t got time for that we ain’t got time for that

(Hey wait)
We gon’ do the ad-libs
(Hey wait)
Tay told ‘em go’n do the ad-libs
Klay I got your b*tch callin’ me a bae
And I really don’t know what to say
I want her head like some motherf*ckin’ braids
And you know I’m finna ayy ayy ayy
And I made this beat ayy
Got your b*tch and she in the sheets ayy
And we turnt up in the studio
Track nation yeah we live in this f*ckin’ ho
I got your b*tch she tryna book me for a f*ckin’ show
She gon’ make you pay for it and you already know
B*tch I’m live
Like Channel Five
I just put ’bout a three five
In a blunt now I’m so f*ckin’ high
To the sky though
N*gga askin’ me these questions I’m like why though?
And my n*ggas got that money standing five four
My money standing six four I’m in a six four with the loads
Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip
Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip b*tch

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