Lyrics

[Chorus: Blue Pesos] It's the new era, this ain't the nineties We don't do the Dickie suits with the Chucks, that ain't West no more (Young Kid, you made this?) I know we just chalkzoned your friend, but just let that go (Niggas get shot up every day) I am not these other rappers, just to let you know Where the cheese? Bitch, please, I got places to be If he say he want smoke, put his face on a tee I hopped up off the porch when I was young and I stayed in the street It took you six months to savе up what I made in a week [Verse 1: Blue Pesos] Sock it to my pockets, lil' baby, 'cause talkin' is chеap Ring, ring, who that callin'? I think that's Ben Franklin Opps in my DMs, niggas woofin', I don't entertain it If he ain't go and make that diss, he probably would've made it Considered famous and it's crazy, still be livin' janky Get up in that mode off this drank, I'm off that good Quagen Gotta keep your own strap 'cause can't nobody save you I got the LA swag for real, just take a look at it My white nigga holdin' a chop', he look like B Rabbit Lookin' for the yen, spotted Susie, then I chinstrapped her Gettin' to the dough, nonstop, taekwon' master Do the foreigns on Forgiatos, not the low riders, bitch [Chorus: Blue Pesos & Duffy] It's the new era, this ain't the nineties We don't do the Dickie suits with the Chucks, that ain't West no more I know we just chalkzoned your friend, but just let that go I am not these other rappers, just to let you know Where the cheese? Bitch, please, I got places to be If he say he want smoke, put his face on a tee I hopped up off the porch when I was young and I stayed in the street It took you six months to save up what I made in a week (Shit) [Verse 2: Duffy] How much I make to talk on beats? You wouldn't believe Strapped my cleats up, my whole team got cases to beat For y'all that's playin' in between, it's some shit up my sleeve Pull up in they hood with five foreigns, we bleedin' the scene (Huh) 30 clip, I'll dump the whole magazine Niggas in the house like quarantine, I'm where that money be I just poured another three of drank, that's gon' replenish me It was a close game, but Off The Mussle took the victory I'll serve a nigga on a silver platter Yeah, I heard your homie got flatlined, it doesn't matter It's 2024, nigga, we ain't wearin' flannels Got love for the old school, it's just a lil' different now Get a bag, the blue faces, niggas makin' mad faces Nigga, we don't tote rags, or no red and blue laces I don't want no hydraulics, we in foreigns drag racin' Rockin' with some 6-O's and West B's, that's just LA shit Mob shit, name good with locs and go-getters From the block to the blade with the pimps and ho bitches Dope dealers find my pints, the seal still up on the bottle Ridin' 'round with semi autos, push this bitch full throttle See you hangin' with them niggas, that ain't West, lil' bro I pulled up and I was told this ain't they hood no more Bitch, I'm married to the game, I love the streets more than hoes Off The Mussle for the win, we got our foot in the door Bitch [Outro] (Young Kid, you made this?) (Niggas get shot every day, man)