Vintage

Lyrics

[Intro] (I really like to use cash) (What the fuck is up?) (What the fuck is up?) (What the fuck is up?) [Verse: Slime Dollaz] Uh, I got vintage drip, I empty the clip And I know they hiding, but this shit for real I just popped a pill, and they didn't know if it was real And this thirty-round magazine, It'll kill ya I had flipped the car, I had upped the score I was in Atlanta, Georgia with a nigga hoe I'm smoking Zaza, I'm smoking dead man And I ain't no mothafuckin' fan, I might fuck your friend And my nigga vulture, better hide your hoe I'm with Tony Shnow and we'll up the score These niggas don't like me and I don't know why Cause they know I be smoking all these damn dead guys In my eyes, they bleeding, baby I'm real conceited Off of park hill, this shit look like fucking [?] We got bloods, we got g's, we got fucking fiends And that nigga don't know snakehead, that boy a squeeze Uh, I got vintage drip, I empty the clip And I know they hiding, but this shit for real I just popped a pill, and they didn't know if it was real And this thirty-round magazine, It'll kill ya I had flipped the car, I had upped the score I was in Atlanta, Georgia with a nigga hoe I'm smoking Zaza, I'm smoking dead man And I ain't no mothafuckin' fan, I might fuck your friend [Verse: Tony Shnow] I got vintage drip, fuck a motion picture this pistol extended clip I ain't politicking with nobody, cause I ain't running for congress I'm only getting paid if you see me in the office Otherwise, I be in the trap house posted A real cool guy, I got guns but I don't post 'em I try not to fuck my fans, I find out they groupies afterward I been booked up all year if you broke I close the chapter Ay, It's polo vintage, this FN director cut I got the clip extended Welcome to the lake show, I go more forties in my trap than a Drake show My lingo went on sale, I'm moving this not residential I got no feelings, I love money, I'm sentimental I just left Cali for the plug, I then hit vintage drip [Outro: Slime Dollaz] Uh, I got vintage drip, I empty the clip And I know they hiding, but this shit for real I just popped a pill, and they didn't know if it was real And this thirty-round magazine, It'll kill ya I had flipped the car, I had upped the score I was in Atlanta, Georgia with a nigga hoe I'm smoking Zaza, I'm smoking dead man And I ain't no mothafuckin' fan, I might fuck your friend