I Shot Ya

Lyrics

[Intro: DJ drops] Get familiar! [Verse 1: Ab-Liva & DJ drops] I'm privy to the fact of the matter that I shatter all records for the new king Pardon as I catapult (Yeah) Fly high, Earl Manigault Still in the kitchen with my fingers in the batter, y'all (Clinton— Clinton— Clinton Sparks!) The magic man, turn soft to hard Turn four into six, nigga, chart my odds If he caught with that hard, it's much harsher laws And the hustlers, they love me, they laud, applaud I'm at places on the hillside, they call for the Lord R nineT crawling abroad Throw paper like ticker tape drop when the four to the floor Got bad bitches crawling ashore Yacht parked on the side of the villa where I'm sliding the door Take a mil', nigga, hide in the floor, Grand Cayman We like cavemen We put fire and the rock in the pot so we can users, allure [Verse 2: Pusha T, Sandman, & DJ drops] I feel smothered by this music industry, I need a breather Guess who's back selling that shake, like seizure? I was on hiatus, I ain't stop stunting neither The Benz chariot, horses carry me like Caesar To Hell with the label woes, suited-out CEOs Thirteen grand for every "K", "I", "L" and "O" Get it? It rebate, how the fuck could I sell it slow? And I be in that penthouse suite, Miami's Delano Rooftop poolside, same as my room side TV on the left, had to tell that bitch, "Move sides" Then fly to Aspen, that's where we lose time Baby girl gasping when I tell her, "Choose high" (Get familiar!) Ching to the chill, I'm laughing Howard hug her neck so good while she shish-kebab snacking Thousand dollars a SKU Then we slide off in the ostrich-skin Bapes, a thousand dollars a shoe (Yeah-ah, can-non) [Verse 3: Sandman, Pusha T, & DJ drops] Not a millisecond to waste I throw a Tec in your face and empty, don't tempt me To send thee to the fiery pits Talking loud, lot of mouth, but ain't riding for shit, you bitch (*Boom*) Proper sick, my niggas is Run up on you, look in your eyes, one to the wig Niggas never seem to survive, and if they live We back up, hop back out, give 'em the clip (The clip, clip) Everything that it hold 'Til we feel we levitated your soul, then we roll Out and up, counting up Seasick, turquoise waters, diamonds alike, how do you like? (Yuugh) I never been complacent Raising the bar, none of us adjacent You ain't on the team, I'm telling you, remember this Your time is limited, farewell, the bar-rel, you'll be facing (Get familiar) [Verse 4: Malice] Never mind the hiatus, and dispel the myths I can't hide from it—you can smell the rich Bitches flock to it like they drawn to a scent We like sore thumbs to 'em, the boys from the men With alloy on the rims, it's apples and oranges Pulling up in rides with angels on the ornaments Taking a bow as if someone applauded I'm a show in itself, I don't need an audience I tote that automatic for any nigga inching Jumpy as fuck, like I suffer from post-traumatic— Syndrome, so, go ahead, stab at it like a fork in the hand I let them nines have it Work in the kitchen, money in the Craftmatic Re-Up, we up one, like a plus addict Nah, brothers, y'all's a far cry from us From the stoop to the coupe in 600s and Hummers, niggas [Outro: DJ tags] This is being brought to you by—