Paroles de la chanson 7.62 par YFN Lucci

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Paroles de la chanson 7.62 par YFN Lucci

Pipe that shit up TnT
Dmac on the fuckin' track
Yeah

I say, uh, oh, yeah, look
In the back of the Benz, I just got it painted
The grill gold-plated, ha, my crib steel-gated
When we ain't used to have not a dollar, we would go and take it, ha
Robberies and grand theft autos, I can't fake it
They told me, "Don't be trippin' about it," I can't save it
A whole lotta money bring problems, but if a nigga play
We gon' get him murdered tomorrow, wanna see me demonstrate?

'87 t-top Cutlass, put it on the interstate
Solitaire Dior Bucket, they can't even see my face
These hoes, they want me to chase, I don't keep my sneakers laced
I don't ride straight-eight, my key can't go to no valet
Flew my cars out to LA
I sold so many 'bows in this bitch, we gon' need to vacate
We been on for some decades (Yeah)
Look, smokin' grade A, but in school I got low grades
Get that boy a box of perfume, he got ho ways
Look, throw that boy a 7.62, we don't throw shade (Yeah)
I hope every one of 'em hit you, not parlay
Look, I'ma die in these Cuban links, I feel like Rod Wave

Walk through 'em, want me to come through, that's a rollie
Look, what you gon' do when the money through, shorty?
Don't keep tellin' me what you gon' do for me (Uh, okay)
Yeah, I only talk 'bout shit that I go through, I ain't phony, huh
You gon' do, huh, what to who? I ain't homie, huh
Last man, he got trash canned 'bout the homie
I ain't no cappin', I spent your advance on lil' homie, uh
We gon' get an address, we gon' land til the morning, huh
Matter fact, gon' hit 'em up while I'm performin', huh
I just got another grill, call me George Foreman
I just got another mil' and I ain't even hungry (Uh)

All you niggas do is bitch, you worser than a woman (Yeah)
Anybody get it, nigga, show me my opponent, huh
I be in the newest shit, I introduce you to this
I put you on my shooter list, fuck it, let me do the bitch
I been goin' through some shit, flip out, get the jeweler hit
I'm the one like Chris' child, we don't sip on no Cristal
I remember ridin' 'round in that bucket, ha
When we was in that Nissan, they didn't give me nothin', ha
When I was fucked up, my own bitch wouldn't even love me
When I ain't have my swagger right, no ho wouldn't even fuck me
I be on some feed the fam shit, I know my mama proud of me

I know that cup real good, I just can't put down that shit
I do it real big, but they don't acknowledge it
Look at where I live, huh, you know I cashed out on it
A condo and a crib, I pay more than 1.5 for it
Everyday expensive shit, everything I'm in be lit
Every time I think 'bout jit, I be tryna spin some shit, uh
Long live all of my niggas, so we done came far
Hate I gotta talk to you in the graveyard

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