My Nigga Remix E

I'm talking about putting on ride, now Glocks in My minds. House front you with that work, out In front of niggas work. He say he want that head up, but we Don't fight fair, bruh. Catch you slipping from your backside, then knock You out. Ace gonna stomp you out, then Buddha Gonna stomp you out. mama ever seen, woulda busted Out and bust his mouth. Nine milli poking out, Four fizzy poking out. Death row days show you what this West Coast About. I'd die for my motherfucking nigga, Jump in front of bullet for my motherfucking nigga. On the stand, I'd lie for my motherfucking nigga. Rob a bank, I'd die for my motherfucking nigga. Real talk, I don't really fuck with too many Niggas. 'Cause niggas drop a dime on you like A couple nickels. I be laughing to the bank Like the fucking money tickle. Driving something that you ain't, top off, suck a Nipple. And I never put a ho before my Bro, don't beef over no ho. And my niggas sell them keys if you can't Open your door. Hope you buy from my motherfucking Niggas. When it rains, it pours, it's dry for Me and my fucking niggas, yeah. I kill for my motherfucking niggas, vice versa. Eyes red from the kush, I blue. White person, got my middle finger on the trigger And with my little finger to you niggas. I swear it's fuck all y'all niggas, except my Niggas. said I'ma ride for my motherfucking nigga. Most likely I'ma die with my finger on the Trigger. I've been grinding outside all day with my Niggas. And I ain't going in unless I'm with My nigga. My nigga, my nigga. My nigga, nigga, my nigga. My Nigga, my nigga. Oh, I just spent a million Dollars on my motherfucking niggas. You catch me out Chicago with the motherfucking Hitters. All around, no number nine, Lord Dirk will Bring the trigger. And when we on the lean, We ain't fucking with the liquor. I'ma a hundred bottles just to give it to The bitches, to the bitches. She keep liking all my pictures 'cause she see The way I ball, how my wrist and neck Be lit up. Catch you at the red light, Have them screaming, "Can't get up." Said a nigga from the bottom and the damn Thing changed. C-c-catch me out in screaming, "Money ain't a thing." In the red Mulsanne looking like I claim blood. And if homie ain't my homie, then I know It ain't love. Screaming out, "Four hundred," Why? Just my nigga. 'Cause I've been in the field, life on the Line with him. And if it's really real, Why? I'd probably die with him. 'Cause when I need them choppers, I just tell Top Hitta, what? I said it, I'ma ride for My motherfucking nigga. Most likely I'ma die with my finger on the Trigger. I've been grinding outside all day with my Niggas. And I ain't going in unless I'm with My nigga. My nigga, my nigga. My nigga, my nigga. My nigga, my nigga. My nigga, my nigga. I-I-I-I-I just got two hundred and fifty thousand Dollars for a verse, nigga. I-I don't know, is it me or it's your Thirst, nigga? You ni-you niggas ain't got no Joints. Like the injured Chris Paul, you ain't got No point. I just come through with a couple Bossy bitches. They get money too, they some don't Cross me bitches. Flossy bitches, Sergio Ross-y Bitches. And if we at the game, then it's Floor seat, bitches. I-I-I-I-I ride for my bitches. I'm so fucking rich, I cop rides for my Bitches. Dollar Menu fries, apple pies are the Bitches. I drop a freestyle and get a rise Out of bitches. Bitches my bitches. I need a nigga with some different strokes, tight Britches. Shout out to my main bitches and my Side bitches. Need a nigga with some good neck, Eye stretches. My nigga. I said it, I'ma ride for my Motherfucking nigga. Most likely I'ma die with my Finger on the trigger. I've been grinding outside All day with my niggas. New York to Compton. I ain't unless I'm with my nigga. Got me, don't get stomped Yeah, I know who The fuck it My nigga. I done preheated my Oven to three hundred fifty degrees, bitch. My nigga, nigga, my nigga, And come out... Oh, word, them bitches like... You better get your motherfucking oven mitt, bitch. Bust it on that beat, ho. Young Mula, baby