Drop Dead ft. Yung Hust Lyrics

Ayy,

Baby lookin real pretty

With them pretty titties

Let her take a trip with me

And watch me make 50

Every nigga that I'm with Gucci ain't no snakes

With me Poppin niggas since the 8th grade

Boy don't play with me

Don't make me get the moppin

Niggas with my dreadheads

I help Brody count 200 with my bare hands

I'm a bad influence all my hoes pop meds

I got work that'll make yo fiends drop

Dead Never lackin I keep lookin out my rearview

He said it's on when he see me

I'm like bitch who Glock 30

Kinda dirty but this bitch new

I ain't got the blik for show mine gettin

Used I done made ten juggin in these black ones

And I done robbed a lot of niggas with these big guns

I know you hate the fact

You broke and my life fun

Keep a loaf of bread on me nigga no crumbs

Pay that check Brody show you how to cook

It up When I get signed I'm goin to buy a Bently

Truck I ain't graduate from school cause I ain't

Give a fuck You blowin all this money

How and you don't stack enough

Damn my phone goin dead I ain't got no charger

Lil bro the scam goat he done scammed his barber

Told him if they want me dead

They gotta step harder

After I hit this nigga bitch

I'm fuckin his daughter

This bookie loud I'm smokin on

I gotta turn it down

I ain't smokin out the quarter Brody passed the pound

Why this pussy nigga on the south

He not allowed around

Caught the opps with a group of niggas

Flamed the whole crowd

Niggas jumpers whack like they Charles Barkley

Niggas said he need some work well come and

Cop it off me I can't show these niggas

Nothin cause they Always copy

Twenty thousand all Dubs Got me walkin sloppy

Yung Hust in this bitch matter of fact, Big Hust

Everybody know Hust got the trap jumpin

And you ain't really gettin money unless

You stack somethin A lot of bad

Bitches in here I'm tryna smack

Somethin And don't call my

Phone unless you wanna buy

Somethin I got cocaine testers

You wanna try somethin

Feds keep askin questions

I don't know nothin

Put some money on your head

The whole south comin

He had a gun and died with that

Bitch while he was runnin

Just took a Adderall now I'm in a good mood

I was sellin Trimadols while your ass was in school

Fuckin bad bitches raw even though it ain't cool

Thirteen thousand, Thirteen hours

Yeah it's time to snooze

Win, win, win, I don't know I feel the lose

Run off with a quarter could've built a brick fool

Five traps every year got the feds confused

Oh, you ain't hear about your bitch?

Yeah she like to choose

That nigga just came home, how he take her from you

Suwoo but my pocket stuffed with nothin but blues

Rob Who take what You gon make the news

Took the investigators a whole hour to find his shoes

Yeah that's what that choppa do

So much money on your head

They kill your mama too

Yeah, your baby mama too

Whole face gone ain't nothin a doctor could do

Oh you in niggas paperwork

Ain't no talkin to you

That little ass bag nah I ain't coppin from you

When I was fucked up broke

Was I walkin with you

Or matter of fact when I was

Down and out where was you

Don't talk that money shit boy

I'll embarrass you

You ain't bought that action ain't nobody scared of you

If you show me loyalty I'll cherish you

No catchin up to me I'll always be ahead of you

Catch Up