a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

blackout - 2 eleven & tf lyrics

[intro: t.f.]
uh, look
uh, okay, okay
(oldman80)

[verse 1: t.f.]
uh, spazzed out, tryna figure out how i blacked out
in the trap house with b*tches doing lashes with they ass out
ambitionz of a ridah in the background
the streets is like the octagon, if you break down, don’t tap out
n*ggas out here storytellin’ so the police, they camped out
what happened to that old sh*t, hit super macs and go max out?
f*ck them others who let the flash out, fall face first like pakyal
i post pics holding prop guns but it’s real sh*t in my background
mashed down, mac .90 hit the back streets and get crumbed, ayy, ayy
hit the eastside with the ag’s and go dump, yeah, yeah
yeah, i’m tired hanging like a bandana ’round a crip n*gga steering wheel
new brand new set of wheels, new bad b*tch, hair and nails done
a1 like raw year, plenty residue dollar bills
potting l!cks out at the playa’s club, you get tied up like dolla bill
yeah, i got mine out the mud, n*gga, like a lean*head popping sips
i said i got mine out the mid, n*gga, leaving yellow tape, popping sh*lls
[verse 2: 2 eleven & conway the machine]
fresh out of jail, got it hot as h*ll
retaliation, n*gga, might as well
yeah, my young n*gga get a lot of k!lls, ah
busting missions out of boneville
with the cocaine, i made a lot of seals
with the proceeds off a clientele
bought a hundred guns with a lot of sh*lls
get the opposition, n*gga, slide to h*ll
had to show these n*ggas i can rap*rap
made a half a milli out the trap*trap
but the kitchen table like a tat*tat
with the .38, n*gga, blap*blap
young gunna, no slatt*slatt
with a couple screws like i’m fat pack
rolls royce, n*gga, matte black
after this verse, it’s a wrap*wrap
bleed n*ggas like i missed ’em
mike amiri jeans, spent a crip on ’em
chopping blocks like a flintstone
i’m the nation dog with the phentanyl
all blood money getting rinsed off
with the royalties from risiduals
they side, they love us but i’m dissing ’em
flipping hoes, that’s original
sh*tting on ’em, that’s intentional
all these rap n*ggas ain’t original
every single one sound similar
i can’t pick and choose who to listen to
i cook waves, we flooding them, n*gga
competition, we f*ckin’ ’em
every four*hunnid, forty*eight grams
make sure we gon’ double up, ah
twenty*five bands four times
n*gga, d*mn near ran a hunnid up
they should’ve never gave them n*ggas no money
knowing they was finna run ’em up, ah
f*ck it up but then f*ck it off
n*ggas having money, i can’t tell
give a f*ck about no government
you n*ggas politic theyself, yeah (yeah)
[verse 3: conway the machine]
spazzed out, whole lot of v’s lining up at the back house (haha)
told ’em wait ’til you all the way behind the gate before you pull your cash out (haha)
put a little extra baking soda in the pot and get another half out (when?)
you only got one body, n*gga, that ain’t really sh*t to brag ’bout (ha)
i can push the b*tton right now, i can get a couple n*ggas scratched out (brr)
like i’m a waxing menace, we gon’ smoke them n*ggas, then we gon’ stab out (stabbed out)
i heard he had your spot mapped up
got your b*tch tied up with a gagged mouth
went in the closet, took that bag out (what’s happenin’, b*tch?)
put all the pounds in the hefty, look like we taking trash out (haha)
if it’s pressure, we spin and we ain’t gon’ let it drag out
told that b*tch to put up that plate and don’t leave them bags out
where i’m from, you can’t put up your peace, it’s getting bad out (it’s bad)
but i’m a straight goon, doing push*ups and holding us in a dayrun (huh?)
your turn to eat comin’, but it ain’t soon (it’s my turn)
i’m cooking up, the downstairs neighbors can smell the ye fumes
i stacked so much money, then i’m running out the saferoom
machine, haha, yeah

- 2 eleven tf lyrics

Random Song Lyrics :

Popular