Ballin (feat. Kevin Gates)
Quelle: Spotify
[Produced by BandPlay]
[Hook – Starlito][x2]
I'm ballin ballin ballin bitch
Don't know what else to call this shit
All this gualas I brought with me, I fuck around and spend all this shit
I fuck around spend all this shit, I'm ballin ballin ballin bitch
I fuck around spend all this shit
[Verse 1 – Starlito]
I started off fucked up, finally got my weight up
Still trying to figure out what the fuck you hating for
When I come around it feel just like an appraisal
Independent nigga getting it in just like the majors
Thumbing through the checks feel like a nigga turning pages
If you was cool and ain't no more, you've done us both a favor
Eighties baby, grew up on a pistol and a pager
Got a free quarter ounce, I bet a hundred on the Lakers
I should say against them, you know I'm riding with the Heat
At the corner store with my box Chevy
Box of rubbers, box of swisher sweets
Still got a bitch that got a bitch that'll get your bitch to leave
Switch up freaks like I swap my whips, that shit ain't real as shit to me
[Hook][x2]
[Verse 2 – Juicy J]
I get to the money partner, you too broke to talk to me
I been counting up all this week, on top of my shit like a toilet seat
I’m rich just like I oughta be, and being real don’t cost a fee
Tell your girl come ride with me
Dick buffet, all she can eat
Loud pack in a mason jar, drive slow in a race car
This yellow bitch I’m in traffic with
She fine as shit and she paid for
Nah this ho can’t be my wife, just make sure you roll my weed up right
Made my eyes so low, it looks like I’m gonna cook me fried rice
I’m ballin, ballin, ballin, bitch
In a car that costs like 40 bricks
Bought a case of sprite and Imma pour codeine in all this shit
These niggas ain’t trill, these niggas policing on the low
Take a nigga’s bitch, and leave the club
But he can put an APP on that ho
[Verse 3 – Kevin Gates]
Screeching, no reason
Saved by the bell, this bitch to the right
Pretty face, tall, white, with a smile like Lisa
Big booty diva
Broke a brick down, need a band of zap
And three hundred for the O’s of reefer
Twenty five bags of the OG kush and the grandaddy purp come weekly
Xans and tabs in the air, no slab, but thank god for my people
On the road doing show after show after show and I still eat good off features
Clunking, gold, and tweaking if the streets ain't got no lean
Say they bought like nine 50 for the seal I say I need it
Took time, this crook’s fine, had bad karma, I shook mine
Jab good, slip excellent, uppercuts, my hook's fine
Refrigeration, illustration, ice on, got niggas hating
Foreign whip, foreign bitch, what that is, immigration
Overcooked dope bags cocaine
If it cook too long then they may complain
Dope game both lanes, won't say no names
Don’t make propane, won't make no change
From the ghetto [?] work that's why I'm ballin, I'm ballin
If you've got a problem with it I ain't sorry, I ain't sorry
[Hook][x2]
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