Lyrics

[Intro: Duffy] Nigga You know what the fuck goin' on Yeah Get in my bag [Chours: Duffy] I'm in my bag, I get to it They ask how I do it, I really just do what I do Got a few rap niggas spooked, they know we into it And no, I ain't callin' no truce I really put in them hours to get all these blues, this shit off the strength, who is you? You better salute, you can't step in my shoes We know the truth, just chill out, my youth [Verse 1: Duffy] I got your bitch in the stu' and the Drac' in the booth and she off of 1942 Heard y'all was cool, ayy, we like to shoot So go tell them niggas to pop out and hoop Ready to jump out, I'll go stupid, I'm makin' my move without even thinkin' it through Fifty-round drum, we bringin' that too We got the juicе, just chill out, my youth We got the Mussle, just chill out, my young I had to go husslе, this shit out the mud Been totin' guns and now we just older Upgraded to choppers and switches and drums I got a Glock that's so pretty, she always be with me, I think that I'm fallin' in love Lean in my cup and some opps in my blunt You niggas act tricky off all of them drugs Styrofoam muddy, enjoying my high Don't talk when I'm rappin', this killing my vibe You came with the mop, I know they gon' ride That niggas you see me with all down to slide Brought out the 9, I got it inside A dumb nigga play, then his chain gon' be mine You ain't gon' blow, step aside I'm uppin' my fire in public, I'm really too fried Stay with my pole, that's for sure, he ordered that beef, it's to go, look These niggas is grown and just got put on They big homies know they wrong Niggas do shit that we just don't condone I don't do the cap in my music, shit Long live the Don, the influence Niggas is sick we get to it, nigga [Chours: Duffy] I'm in my bag, I get to it They ask how I do it, I really just do what I do Got a few rap niggas spooked, they know we into it And no, I ain't callin' no truce I really put in them hours to get all these blues, this shit off the strength, who is you? You better salute, you can't step in my shoes We know the truth, just chill out, my youth [Verse 2: Blue Pesos] Shit, bitch, I'm the truth Keep your mouth shut when I step in the booth Fifty-round drum when I step in the booth They'd be down the block, they just need my approval My whole team eatin', you could tell by the jewelry Somebody call Rudy Twenty-somethin' racks, got it stuffed in the Louis Cook him for tellin', we fire Ratatouille Don't hang with no Judas, jebroni or no loser Could slap with a ruler, bitch strip like a show girl Cartier got my wrist cold as the North Pole Throw that shit up, he supporty DiGiorno Hop out real quick, case he call, keep the car on Slaymaster Splinter came with Ninja Turtles McLovin-ass nigga, your mommy in Urkel Lil' square-ass nigga, don't fit in my circle Sneakin' and geekin' with Susy My shooter in the cut with a Loius V kofi You used to be deuce deuce, and now it's a hosey I only do rich bitches, don't like the groupies Lil' bro want a fade, then it's straight to the back We don't squabble with opps, it's 9 millis to backs You beggin' to suck me, I only want racks My shooter gon' spin and spin 'til he knock off a hat, ugh