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only problem - r3 da chilliman lyrics

[intro: r3 da chilliman]
(mia jay c)
only problem is i keep poppin’ these percocets
(i hear you, jay c)
oh*oh

[verse 1: r3 da chilliman]
my only problem is i keep poppin’ these percocets
took his chains ’cause he play tough, now come purchase it back
jeans only cost me a band, but i got fifty in ’em
hit they hood and spinned all night, i got dizzy with ’em
n*gga, the gat ain’t in the car, i’m in the club with it
lil’ yak can beat yo’ block, i love that dumb n*gga
pink tens, rps, where my meds at?
walk in, swingin’ big cubans, the head taps
she suck it good, she got me leanin’ like my cream soda
i see her friends been eyein’ mе, i told her bring ’em over
you know i sprayеd the ysl, so smell the cookie on me
bad b*tch with a fat ass, put that p*ssy on me
f*ckin’ yerkies got my motherf*ckin’ palms itchin’
i need all my kicks designer, i cannot fit them
in the booth, beatin’ the mic like i’m sonny liston
in the house, searchin’ for money, now they safe missin’
in the club, swingin’ my chain like a hula hoop
everybody turn kn*bs, i don’t know who to shoot
told the b*tch to slow down, i almost spilled my juice
if the ball was in your hand, what would you do?
[verse 2: 03 greedo]
i’m finna do a song with somebody that i don’t like
this n*gga think we cool, but he won’t make it home tonight
they call me, “greedy,” when i eat sh*t, got an overbite
red bottom, steppin’ on the lean, can’t roll your soda spike
need purple guts inside my ghost, call it the poltergeist
i been possessed by lil money, finna pole tonight
just f*cked the partner of my wife like she don’t know my wife
i’m bangin’ grape street crip, b*tch, you know i’m trife
b*tch, i’m still high off sh*t i popped back in 2009
i’m still alive, and all my opps? sh*t, all them n*ggas dyin’
don’t ask me ’bout no cali rappers, all them n*ggas lyin’
they ain’t no flockers, ain’t no trappers, ain’t comittin’ crimes
each time 03 link with r3, these n*ggas throwin’ signs
they finna free motherf*cker flee and b*tch, it’s goin’ down
2013 to ’23 and we ain’t been around
but i’ma give it to you straight, you play, we give you rounds
ain’t talkin’ boxin’, turn to hashtags off of [?] pound
hottest new artist, but for fifteen years, been underground
they speed my songs up and do dances with them kiddy clowns
might paint my face, hop out with steppers in the biggest crowd
we ride with spinners, we ride with spinners, it don’t stop
steppin’ like crunchy black, the mafia, back on the block
i got some memphis grapes that pop a younger n*gga’ top
you play with greedy name and we ain’t never met, i’m just at odds
i gained some weight in prison, this ain’t fat, i’ll knock you out
enemies respect me ’cause i never flinched, they packed me out
b*tch, i’m bangin’ peter roll, on grape, i never rolled it up
some of y’all, done turned ya down, and y’all ain’t standin’ close to us
murder r3′ songs ’cause he remind me of my evil twin
know they call me, “greedy,” after this, gon’ have to eat again
i’ll hustle off my tax id and i might use a cpn
i know this verse a lil’ long, so what? just loop the beat again
still standin’ on business, i stand up like a comedian
i’m back to get my motherf*ckin’ state up out they seat again
been down for seven burners, i ain’t scared to up the heat again
push my parole to cali just so i can smoke some weed again
i must have a weak bladder ’cause a n*gga finna pee again
don’t never say these rappers soundin’ somethin’ like 03 again
she don’t wanna give me sh*t, i’m sorry, i don’t need her then
if you ain’t down to k!ll a n*gga for me, i can’t be your friend
big cheedo, ha
[verse 3: r3 da chilliman]
ain’t no foolin’ me, he jewelry cheap, that tip a hollow
thought he was a k!ller, real driller, he got robbed, though
n*ggas in they videos with arps, and they ain’t drop sh*t
i go grab my chop’, drop a body, i don’t drop diss
i’m in neiman marcus, pockets bulgin’, we want big racks
aim the 7.62s at his face and push his sh*t back
my homies outside, totin’ sticks like they can’t see nothin’
b*tch, time to slide, if you in this ride, you know how we comin’
you ain’t never stripped a n*gga for a box of ps
don’t crack stoves and flock houses, n*gga, that’s my thing
my watch cost a lil’ more, i bust a face too
you n*ggas bouncin’ out, lettin’ dracs loose
the blower in my amiri jeans and i’m clutchin’ it
she got a design on her toes and i’m lovin’ it
i’m in here leanin’ to the left, i’m off a pink ten
hundreds piled up on the floor, i’m countin’ big beg

- r3 da chilliman lyrics

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