Correction Lyrics Monday to Sunday by Gucci Mane

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Lyrics

(Pablo, you crazy for this one, haha)
(Damn, you went Beats Mode on this one)

I turn Sonic for money, in the trap Monday to Sunday
Clientele steady pumpin’, Draco shells, that’s what we dumpin’ (Brrt)
I’m familiar with junkies, see my face and they come runnin’ (Yo)
Two Instagram hoes from Compton (Uh), I snatched ’em up out my comments (Let’s go)
Them regular clips ain’t enough (Nope), if you tote a Glock, put a drum in it (Brrt)
Tryna catch up to me? There’s gon’ be a whole lotta runnin’ (Runnin’)
Eyes in my rearview mirror, I’m on point, won’t go for nothin’ (Nope)
Got twenty shots left up in the K, thought I shot the whole hundred

Pay my ties at church from hustlin’, even the pastor know we thuggin’ (Amen)
My lil’ cousin shot my brother, my brother got back, don’t fuck with my cousin
We got Glocks from seventeen, shoot .33, we ain’t goin’ for nothin’ (Nothin’)
He tried to do what I do and I do what I do, he really my baby boy (Oh yeah)
Kel Tec 223 with a hundred round drum, that’s probably my favorite gun
Everybody know how it go and seen bro on bro, on God, we ain’t shootin’ no ones
Baby got mills, I come through, foreign
Sell these bands if it ain’t no tourin’
Fresh white tee and some Off-White Jordans
Trackhawk too loud, it don’t need no horn
Keep my weed, I need my drugs
Got two chefs, gotta feed my son
Soon as my feet hear the screech, I run
Burn through weed every week, buy tons
Nigga, I’ma speak, ain’t bitin’ my tongue
Only one that’s havin’ that shit where I’m from
Been runnin’ shit ever since I was young
Fuck all my teachers, said I wouldn’t be nothin’

Draco knocked a chunk up out his back like he workin’ for Apple
Shie just poured a six up in the Sprite, I pour eight in the Snapple
If I catch this opp all by myself, I’ma spray him without ’em
Smoke back-to-back in the Audi, we got this whole party cloudy
Rocked his ass to sleep, we slimed him out after we took him in
He was clubbin’ with the other side, we had to cook his ass
We just shook they block in the [?] but we had Texas tag
Dropped his ass then hit his nigga up, so we burnt up the Jag
And my hood treat me like Baby, four packs of Fentanyl on me
Hate to serve your lil’ old lady, but Granny keep callin’ me
Any chopper hits, ’bout eighty ten shot for who followin’ me
In these streets, it’s eat or get ate, ain’t no niggas swallowin’ me, brr

See something, I got to have it, tuck your chain before I grab it (Ayy, tuck your chain, brrt)
Spin this block in the Caddy, these F&N’s black and plastic (Brrt)
Miss Gladys raised a savage (Savage), they said I shoot like my daddy (My daddy)
Spent thirty-eight racks to fix my smile and wouldn’t [?] Kardashian
Ate thirty-eight racks to fix my grill, fifteen-eighty a tooth (Bling)
Bitch talkin’ ’bout us settling down, but I’m fuckin’ her crew (She know it)
3754, pockets full, choppers and residue (Brrt)
We certified like the truth, bitch, it’s 30, Baby and Pooh (Brrt)

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