Vivienne Peacoat

Lyrics

[Intro: DC2Trill] Phew (Nick on the track) Gotta dig it [Verse 1: DC2Trill] Vivienne Westwood peacoat .223s, big smoke Your bitch got a deep throat RPs, no repos Lil' Moe just threw a party, you know that's where the freaks go (Yeah) Treat designer like Ed Hardy, I throw that shit all on the floor (Phew) Ali got them Oxys cheap, you know he bring the Percs for sure Matty Boy up on my jacket, hood bitch purse got a big-ass chrome Shooters, know I keep 'em with me Hot points, you gon' catch 'em near me I'm icy, know this shit look tempting But try it, you gon' catch a fifty Martine got me looking spiffy (Phew) Niggas mouse like Mickey Your bitch a snitch, so she Minnie Your OG too, she Miss Piggy (Phew) Already told you once, bitch, you can't leave me no hickey (Phew) Take the roof up off this bitch, I'm high right to the ceiling Know I'm high as the fuck when I'm in them hills and I fuck on them models Talking to this bougie bitch, she pulled up to Jack Harlow (Dig?) Your pints ain't got no barcodes Gen5, yeah, we tote those Your boy look like a hobo He need to get some cashflow [Verse 2: Rio Da Yung OG] I went in the crib to grab the weed, ran out the back door This nigga Peezy got straight out the feds like, "Where the Act' go?" Can't believe you kicked my cup over, we gotta scrap, bro I can fuck the baddest bitches in my city, I wanna rap though Mad as hell I wasted all that time, I wanna stack dough You ain't really out here active, what the fuck you got a strap for? Ha, let me get that I'm blunt as hell, pulled her to the side like, "Let me hit that" I got seven 'bows of some Gorilla Glue, give me ten stacks Aw shit, he threw another brick, but I ain't with Shaq You know I'm part of the Sinaloa Cartel Bust an old K, when he run, he did a cartwheel I only poured a deuce in a sixteen ounce, but it's dark still And hell nah, this is not no Tris, had a Wock' seal Dog threw a shot and hit his head, he gettin' popped still Whether we pour a twenty ounce or a big pop, it's gettin' dropped still [Verse 3: RMC Mike] .50 BMG bullets big, we call 'em pop can Dropped a hunderd in the car, the nigga body look like chopped ham Met the plug with heavy metal on me, he on the rock band Sixteen ounce Sprite or Mountain Dew is what we drop in Lou' got a brand new 560, I wanna drop head Drunk all the Wock', bro called, said he got some snot in Cooling kit on Baby Ghost's chop, he got a hot head Playing with that Glock got me nervous, one up top, yeah Ghetto Boy Navy, I'll get a nigga popped for free You a petty sipper, nigga sittin' around, pourin' a lot of threes I grinded hard for this hundred K, didn't hit the lottery Told your ass the truth from the jump, now why you lie to me? Sorry, niggas can't come back to the hood because I'm robbin' 'em Told Boat I'm coming to the A, he like, "No problem" Got the head raw, but she won't fuck without no condom I like to hit her from the back while she screaming out, "Wakanda"