Retaliate! Lyrics

(You, You Think You Famous)

Aye, Yuh

Aye, Yuh

Aye, Yuh

Aye, Yuh

Aye, Yuh

Lil' August

Grown ass man steady worried bout me cause I'm fucking his daughter

Yeah, two 30s on me, better call the police cause the bullets just caught em

Chrome hearts all on me, red bottom my feet, young nigga just bought em

If you got a problem, my nigga come solve em

We fucking this bitch and she straight out of Harlem

Get to the chicken like Ronald McDonald

Splitting the pounds of the gas in a column

You think she loyal, that hoe keep on callin

But I don't blame her, a young nigga ballin

When I pull up we ain't doin no talkin

Beat up the pussy, she limp when she walkin

All of her friend are birds, they flockin

Staying the night is a line that you crossin

No wonder why all bitches keep stalkin

I'm a young nigga with racks in his pocket

Young nigga shoot out your eye out your socket

Call you Kakashi, y'all niggas stay copying

Wanna run down on me, nigga come try it then

All of my niggas pull up like a fireman

Wanna be gang, just check the requirements

Trynna diss me, put you in retirement

Yeah, I just bought a Vette

All my diamonds wet, ah yeah

Put yo hoe in check

She gone give me neck, ah yeah

Came up on a check

Made yo lil' bitch wet, ah yeah

They say what the heck

Yeah Lil' August next, ah yeah

Biscotti my lungs

I love when they run

Shootout for fun

I bought a new gun

19x go right through yo lung

It hit him he done

Tell the haters begone

Shoutout Dion

20k in a month

219 nigga hit him with a hunnit round drum

Grown ass man steady worried bout me cause I'm fucking his daughter

Yeah, two 30s on me, better call the police cause the bullets just caught em

Chrome hearts all on me, red bottom my feet, young nigga just bought em

If you got a problem, my nigga come solve em

We fucking this bitch and she straight out of Harlem

Get to the chicken like Ronald McDonald

Splitting the pounds of the gas in a column

You think she loyal, that hoe keep on callin

But I don't blame her, a young nigga ballin

When I pull up we ain't doin no talkin

Beat up the pussy, she limp when she walkin

All of her friend are birds, they flockin

Staying the night is a line that you crossin

(You, You Think You Famous)