Correction Lyrics Makaveli (OG) by DC The Don

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Lyrics

Let's go Mario
Yeah, yeah, yeah
N***as piped up in this b*t*h right now (What?)
Gang, gang, gang

And it's too many opps in this party
Lil' b*t*h, Makaveli my sh*t, brodie talk, he get hit up (What? What?)
Walking with a stick like a blind man, pick up
Smoking on exotic make him- huh, make him hiccup
Snakes in the gra**, I'm a lion, better keep up
Why the long face? Make a b*t*h n***a lift up
Shawty got a dome with some lil' a** B cups
Acting like a ho, got his motherf**king b*t*h f**ked

Big frames on me (What?)
Big Range Rover (What?)
My sh*t, own it (Skrrt)
He's a poser (Yeah, yeah)
Please hit me up when it's over (What?)
Fake a** cloner
That ain't your sh*t, you a motherf**king soldier
Shе know I'm a dog, I'm a motherf**king Dober
Woke up to thе smoke 'cause I hate being sober (Pu**y)

Blue devil sh*t, I'm up in Houston, I ball with the Rockets
Your b*t*h on my jimmy, I told her to stop it
No b*t*h, I ain't John, I got hoes in the tropics
Not a civilian, I roll like I'm Gotti
You slide through my crib, but this sh*t looking garbage
Young n***as too rich from the streets, we ain't mobbin'
Come to Milwaukee, them n***as still robbing (Yeah, gang, gang)

Big a** chop put a hole through his dome
I'm on ching ching chong with this lil a** blunt
Finesse the pack, put the whole team on
Finessed the dope where the b*t*h can't go
I ain't tryna talk to a minute-maid ho
Got Balenciaga shoes, Alexander Wang clothes
Give her twenty backshots, I'll finesse your ho (Pu**y)
I'm a hip-hopper rapper, my C hot
Energy turbo, my tool 'bout to spit fire
And your sh*t, know you big liar
Said you got gas, but this don't get me high, yeah
And I'm Michael, call me Myers
Got 32's on that b*t*h, that's some big tires
Skrrt through your block, leaving marks on the street fiber
Internet gangsters, I never could be cyber
Came in this b*t*h with a MAC-10
I ain't tryna talk, where the f**k the backend? (What?)
Run your pockets, n***as finna cash in
Make him hee-hee in this b*t*h, Michael Jackson (Yeah)
Glock with a beam, get packed in
Cutter to my left, this Milwaulkee a**a**in
My ex be callin', callin', see me ballin', ballin', hit decline and get to laughin'
Hit my dougie, get to rapping
This the f**kin' second season
They know DC finna spaz, neck, wrist, ears froze, n***as still freezing
They keep asking if I dropped, I ain't finna drop, b*t*h, I'm finna blow
You can run up if you want, you ain't finna run, b*t*h, you finna float
Stepping on the gas, foe'nem off the Act', you can get yo' a** blowed
Walkin' in the pad, who that in the back? ØUTLAW got him by the throat
Think I give a f**k 'bout these n***as? He's just another n***a in my scope
Lil' b*t*h, I can't go
And it's too big, the bankroll
Blue devil sh*t, I'm up in Houston, I ball with the Rockets
Your b*t*h on my jimmy, I told her to stop it
No b*t*h, I ain't John, I got hoes in the tropics
Not a civilian, I roll like I'm Gotti
You slide through my crib, but this sh*t looking garbage
Young n***as too rich from the streets, we ain't mobbin'
Come to Milwaukee, them n***as still robbing (Yeah, gang, gang)

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