L&T Flow ft. Who Lyrics

This the typa beat make a nigga wanna talk cocky

All my niggas match poles and woods you cannot drop me

On the road I'm in yo hood you cannot pop me

And I run red lights so nigga you cannot stop me

The SuperSonics might be gone but I'm still tryna ball

A fugee from the west I be killing niggas soft

My nigga I'm the best when a beat is involved

One up 15 cuz 16s what I'll drop

And I only mix green with the green I love wok

Damn I need some right now

Told my nigga puff puff he just blew me 5 clouds

If you want a hp from me that's a light thou

Look

I'm so cocky told that bitch nice to meet me

Put some green on his head now he's Luigi

Bitch I'm from Seattle 206 that's where we be

I can't bust a date with you unless you're tryna treat me

I'm a hot nigga with some chips like a talk is

Stepped out the box you can smell the high fashion on me

Bitch I get a lotta blues I'm a money maker

Chokeslam a nigga call me the undertaker

Rolled this weed lighting fast I'm the thunder breaker

And that's a stoner joke

I just fucked a boujee bitch said she's too grown to smoke

That's why I like the groupie bitches that be down to blow

That's why I like the choosy bitches with the coldest smoke

And outta of all the plugs they say I got the dopest dope

I can pull a bitch and hit her with the rope a dope

I could toss my lean out and get some more from bro

But I can't toss my green out that's my most prized possession

Give them hell on the beat but I rhyme like heaven

These niggas tryna be like me but they can't mime the methods

I'm a geek with the gleek my mind is my protection

And nigga so's this weapon

I'll teach a dumb nigga lifes greatest lesson

He's gon be a smarter man when he's up in heaven

Yoga teacher get a lot of bands and I can stretch them

Bros a preacher, what he's saying isn't shit tho

Hit him with the fa fa, that was the pistol

Hit him with the (Pop pop), that was the big pole

Hit him with the (Missile noise*), that was the missile

Hit stick every track all my raps are official

This bitch said she's tryna throw it back, where's my whistle

Aye

Where's my whistle

Bop a bitch top like monkey in the middle

All my tracks are hot nigga yours don't even fizzle

Say your smoking clocks but you're smoking on a swisher

Nigga we can't even match

I can't name a time my growers had a bad batch

My jugs can't name a time that I've sold them bad thrax

I get money on the fourth by fifth I'm at saks

I don't even really touch what I get from flipping packs

If you see me sipping mud bought it with a bitches bag

When I sip Wokhardt boy I feel like a angel

You are not hard I can see through your angle

Nigga you're a square shoot him 90 degree fast balls through the air

Yeah I striked that boy out

I ain't talking bout sports

All the baseball talk earlier was just a metaphor

Bitch Ima get in that pussy and explore

I could run up a band posted at my front door

Got so many f.n.s my traps like a gun store

Killed the whole beat again needa stop getting bored