Versuri Gucci Mane – Lifers (feat. Key Glock, Foogiano & Ola Runt) lyrics
I heard my buddy went out bad, but I’m nothin’ like my buddy ‘nem (Well, damn)
He went out sad, it made me mad, now I can’t even f*ck with him (Wow)
Them suckers them, what’s up with them? I buck on them, scuff up them Timbs
Petty hustles, predators, pressure them then they crumble them
Cripple n*gga, shitbag, wheelchairs, I humble them
Bullets get to flippin’ and fumblin’ and tumblin’
“Gucci Mane, hey let’s jump him, ” nobody jumpin’ him (No)
One man, two handguns, that’s what you up against
My right arm is so-called strong, why is the muscle big?
From whippin’ dope in my long-johns, I made it jump again
I don’t know where you from, holme, but you best come again
Ain’t nobody sold more dope than me but Mexicans (It’s Gucci, Wop)
Haha, ayy, I just broke my thumb again
Yeah, I been runnin’ up my money, I can’t run up out a win
Yup, I was runnin’ wild, had to hold it down, my mom was in the pen’
And I still hold it down too, my mama ain’t raise no damn fool
Yeah, I’m Big Glock, I do big shit, boy, I ain’t nothin’ like you
I’m flexin’ hard with my young black ass and all my cash is blue
I pull up in the Rolls or Maybach and I’m just twenty-two
They like, “How the f*ck he get that?” Shit, I been gettin’ to it
Trappin’ and rappin’ and makin’ moves, yeah, bitch, I been makin’ moves
Yeah, stuntin’ too hard, I had to play it cool
Mama told me them boys ain’t cool
Glizock and Wizzop a terrible two
Yeah, bitch, we a terrible two
This watch right here cost a Lam’ truck, but
Shit, I think I want a Lam’ truck too
Shit for real, n*gga
N*gga ain’t play with this one, man (Nothin’)
F*ck you talkin’ ’bout? Mob (Yeah)
More money, more problems
I don’t give a f*ck, I keep a revolver
If you got a problem, know I’ma solve ’em
Ain’t heard ’bout me, then n*gga, go search your browser
I was posted up on Joe Brown for real
We was robbers, we wasn’t workin’ no deal
Smokin’ gas, that shit be loud like Malia
N*ggas talkin’, but they know what it is, huh?
I got them crooked rows (Crooked), and I got them shotguns
I got them gangster n*ggas, and they got them big guns
I got them OGs, yeah, they ridin’ with me, and they gon’ kill somethin’
And I got them Pirus, bitch, they ain’t gon’ spare nothin’, nah
Plug just sent a text, they in
Call my country boy, they gone
1017, Ola, we on
Sippin’ Act’, don’t do Patrón
Chain said burr, re-up, make it disappear
On that Pimp C, talkin’ slurred
Pop a Perc’, my vision blurry
My bitch petite
Patek Philippe
Hellcat motor in my Jeep
Talkin’ bars, I charge a fee
Took an ’05 banger beat
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