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the pape - skilla baby lyrics

[intro]
huh?
n*ggas actin’ like this sh*t ain’t ’bout the money or somethin’
(mia jay c)
huh? ayy

[verse 1]
if i don’t know nothin’, i know how to make a ‘bow flip
i ain’t gon’ lie, enough pape’ll get a n*gga ho hit
pandemic money gone, n*ggas doin’ ho sh*t
we don’t never do no drive*bys, we do door kicks
every day i wake up, get up, grind like i want ten
you would never see me judge a man like i don’t sin
swimmin’ in the deep end, so i tote fin
if it’s business, i’m vlone, ain’t got no friends
sold so many three*fives before i came the dope man
auntie don’t f*ck with cocaine, she a blow fan
unc’ on the other hand, that n*gga a snowman
been stopped sellin’ work, still got it on hand
bankroll so big, i had to hold it up with both hands
they wonder why the rappers wanna hang with the dope man
he don’t know my life if he don’t sell lindsay lohan
i been out here on my own ten, i’m a grown man
i always check my back door, it be your own mans
everybody out here got a price, i don’t want friends
my plug put that one sh*t on the floor, i’m like, “i want in”
every day, i try to make ten bands before i go in (huh?)
[interlude]
huh
you gotta know that
n*ggas act like this sh*t ain’t ’bout the money or somethin’
huh, run that motherf*ckin’ money up
huh? (huh?)
that’s what you gotta know

[verse 2]
that’s what you gotta know
the plug hit me with that one sh*t, i’m like, “geronimo”
everybody knew i was gon’ sell dope, even my mama know
my fiends said they wanna see food, i’m like pappadeaux
in the kitchen choppin’ those
all my guns come with drums, i do rock and roll
they say sk!lla on fire, stop, drop, and roll
my hoes be poppin’ hoes
my bros’ll pop your bros
n*gga soft as cotton rolls
my mama’ll beat your mama ass
and if your mama touch my mama, i’ma beat your mama ass
i don’t do less than one*fifty, it’s two hundred on the dash
chop a n*gga hand off, i catch him reachin’ in my stash
last year, i made two*fifty, i don’t brag
seven hundred horsepower, who that n*gga on that neck?
i fell off a lil’ bit, but this year, i’m back in my bag
back to makin’ n*ggas mad
i think a lot of n*ggas f*gs
a lot of b*tches wanna sh*g
i got good sense, but ain’t got goodsense, glad bag
young n*gga, grown money
i look up to myself, i got my own money
pua done, all my n*ggas gettin’ phone money
short temper, long money
last year, you n*ggas was road runners
the last thing i wanna hear is, “let me hold somethin'”
brodie in the pen’, he’ll poke somethin’
sk!lla on the show, they know the g.o.a.t. comin’
your b*tch comin’ over, i know that throat comin’
every day, i text my plug, “i need work, let me know somethin'”
last year, i made two*fifty, this year, i’m makin’ four somethin’
i’m tryna get some pape’, please don’t call me if you don’t want nothin’
it’s all about the benjamins
huh, f*ck n*ggas, get money, that’s my temperament
ten on me every time i hit a b*tch
[outro]
no cap, n*gga
we gon’ start the year off right
new year, new pape’
on god
huh?

- skilla baby lyrics

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