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why so serious? - g.t. lyrics

[intro]
here we go
(brrt) yeah, come on
(classic)
(okay jones)
haven’t heard about you, n*gga
(really ran this sh*t up, man, we still runnin’ it up) come on, ayy

[chorus]
heard them n*ggas tellin’ (tellin’), i can’t take em serious (uh)
this ain’t crate & barrel, b*tch, these plates come from liberia (yeah)
bought my og a crib, spent your stash on her interior (i did)
a n*gga used to serve and make his plays at imperial (for real)
make the glass move with no hands like matilda (ayy, ayy)
took the bag on a long journey like a pilgrim (for real)
talkin’ to myself, like, “f*ck these n*ggas, they don’t feel you” (yeah)
touch a hair on me in here, we blowin’ up the building (brrt, brrt)
[verse 1]
i been jumpin’ off the jet all week (yeah)
hoppin’ off that big boy, and not that sh*t off jetsuite (for real)
white buffs off the mink, you can tell i’m from the d (‘troit)
she like, “how you ain’t move and make two hundred in a week?” (brrt)
that’s what happen when you get ’em in cheap (come on)
told a b*tch, “i’m a p, you wanna f*ck, pay the fee” (come on)
a hundred for the daytona, spent fifty on the piece (yeah)
and that was just for the charm, thirty pointers for the link
n*ggas’ stash real low, but they talk like they up
come and get money with us, we make dogs outta pups (grr)
make sure she stay fly, a to a d cup (come on)
teach her about ice, the color, clarity, and cut (n*gga)

[chorus]
heard them n*ggas tellin’ (yeah), i can’t take em serious (uh)
this ain’t crate & barrel (nah), b*tch, these plates come from liberia (yeah)
bought my og a crib, spent your stash on her interior (for real)
a n*gga used to serve and make his plays at imperial (ice, ice, ice)

[verse 2]
sippin’ lean, mixin’ beans, this sh*t bad for my health (ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy)
mixin’ saint with saint laurent off a goyard belt
i’m out here, gettin’ to that money, i don’t know ’bout nothin’ else (i don’t)
man, them boys ain’t drop sh*t, they must got ’em on the shelf
four*four in a twenty*ounce, this a thousand*dollar fanta (come on)
if we beefin’, i’m harassin’, all the straps got heat tracking (yeah)
i don’t know how them n*ggas still broke, go get a package (for real)
even the youngins got a bag around me, they card crackin’ (ayo)
car jackin’, he been taxed for that big whip and mansion (come on)
i hit the road so much that i could drive there backwards (brrt)
bro was right, you’d be rich if you sit there and stack it (stack it up)
r.i.p. virgil, seven thousand for a jacket, n*gga (ayy)
[chorus]
heard them n*ggas tellin’ (n*gga), i can’t take em serious (come on)
this ain’t crate & barrel, b*tch, these plates come from liberia (yeah)
bought my og a crib, spent your stash on her interior (i did)
a n*gga used to serve and make his plays at imperial (ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy)
make the glass move with no hands like matilda (classic)
took the bag on a long journey like a pilgrim (okay jones)
talkin’ to myself, like, “f*ck these n*ggas, they don’t feel you”
touch a hair on me in here, we blowin’ up the building, n*gga

- g t lyrics

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