jack & a press - g.t. lyrics
[intro: los]
(olympic)
ayy, what’s the numbers on it? yeah
(d*mn, flaw, this what i been prayin’ for)
chill, chill, n*gga, yeah
n*gga, yeah
what’s the numbers on it?
p*ssy*ass n*ggas, ain’t got no love for ’em
[chorus: street lord juan, g.t., & los]
fifty box of ziplocs packed in a ‘vette (what else?)
a strap and a vest (what else?)
a jack and a press (uh*huh)
fifty box of ziplocs packed in a ‘vette (what else?)
a strap and a vest (what else?)
a jack and a press
[verse 1: los]
my mans called my phone talkin’ ’bout, “what’s the numbers on it?”
do you got some f*ckin’ money or just know who want ’em?
boy, i can throw you somethin’
cookin’ class, show you somethin’
drought season, pandemic
like how much work can you handle?
like call it what you want, don’t call me if it ain’t ’bout money
one phone call’ll have my young n*gga waitin’ on you
razorblade in a plate or somethin’, cut up a kilo
smack my mans in the head with a brick like he deebo
i might fight like a man, i been whippin’ all day
i’m kinda close to a ticket, how many trips it’s gon’ take?
i’m like f*ck it, i’m straight, knee*deep, i tell myself keep goin’
i was cookin’ n*ggas’ bids, now i get paid to perform, n*gga
[chorus: street lord juan, g.t., & los]
fifty box of ziplocs packed in a ‘vette (what else?)
a strap and a vest (what else?)
a jack and a press (uh*huh)
fifty box of ziplocs packed in a ‘vette (what else?)
a strap and a vest (what else?)
a jack and a press
[verse 2: g.t.]
i’m talkin’ ’bout my hands numb, i been countin’ a check
i’m threadin’ them bales, i ain’t take one risk
got a bird in my right hand, got one on my left
wrist forty alone, it can get par for a brick
on the road, lil’ n*gga, we only stoppin’ to p*ss
i ain’t take one loss, i know my haters is sick
quick to double the pros, blow some on my b*tch
movin’ so much weight, but not the one that you bench
gotta use a lil’ strength, f*ck around with the press
i walked in, cuz like montana, coke all on the desk
after you blend this sh*t, lil’ n*gga, let this sh*t rest
come take it to a small town, we show you how to invest
[chorus: street lord juan, g.t., & los]
fifty box of ziplocs packed in a ‘vette (what else?)
a strap and a vest (what else?)
a jack and a press (uh*huh)
fifty box of ziplocs packed in a ‘vette (what else?)
a strap and a vest (what else?)
a jack and a press (okay)
[verse 3: street lord juan]
if you know juan, then you know i’m
tied in from chuco town to russo shop
on 7 mile and beland, got my boots on knot
for dancin’ on a quarter ton of that mucho cob
a different cash type, grew up livin’ fast life
bag life, four freight liners, duckin’ flashlights
flood the red zone ‘fore it was a red zone
the feds know all my opposition got a headstone
n*gga, all fact, no cap
before rap, playin’ with tickets, all trap, no rap
just got out the feds, and i’m back on trap
came home the right way, n*gga, no trap, no rattin’, n*gga
[chorus: street lord juan, g.t., & los]
fifty box of ziplocs packed in a ‘vette (what else?)
a strap and a vest (what else?)
a jack and a press (uh*huh)
fifty box of ziplocs packed in a ‘vette (what else?)
a strap and a vest (what else?)
a jack and a press (okay)
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