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Tellin Ya
by
Lil Gotit & Lil PJ
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Lyrics
I’m tellin’ ya I’m tellin’ ya (Ooh, Dilla) Porsche 911 (911) Maybach coupe, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya) Big baguette, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya) Trappin’ just like [belly?] (Forreal) I keep guns like [belly?] (Forreal) This is foreign, not a Chevy (Forreal) Sound like Kid Cudi Smoke exotic with my buddy He so cap, I’m tellin’ ya Make me don’t trust nothin’, mmm Found my gold like treasure VVS grill when I be cussin’, yeah I’m so slime, can’t trust me Snakes in my grass, don’t cut it tho Drag racin’ in them Trackhawks I’ma tell ya I’m so slime, draw, win, or lose My b**** got honey, Winnie-Pooh Spent a couple thousand on some brand new shoes Arrowhead, that’s a brand new tool Just to the sky, but we gettin’ so high We so proud, can’t tell our moves Load up some sticks then we slide, guarantee you make the news Virgil Off-White, I can drip all night My b**** got head, yeah that d*** Her p**** pink, and it’s tight Me and twenty [?], yeah we f***** her twice We comin’ to like Mike and Ike Make it rain in the club, that’s a alibi Put her down, she don’t know what’s right I don’t see no evil All is see is a lot of commas and they b-rolls (Racks) Told PJ, “It gon’ be a lot of people” Nah we ain’t worried, we got that lethal Porsche 911 (911) Maybach coupe, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya) Big baguette, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya) Trappin’ just like [belly?] (Forreal) I keep guns like [belly?] (Forreal) This is foreign, not a Chevy (Forreal) Sound like Kid Cudi Smoke exotic with my buddy He so cap, I’m tellin’ ya Make me don’t trust nothin’, mmm Found my gold like treasure VVS grill when I be cussin’, yeah I’m so slime, can’t trust me Snakes in my grass, don’t cut it tho Drag racin’ in them Trackhawks I’ma tell ya Yeah, I came from the hood with all of the bros You know I’m gon’ ride with my gang, yeah I just want the money, I just want the big bag, yeah F*** all the fame, yeah I came from the mud, yeah I came from the trenches It’s a 30, go out with a bang Ride around, they gon’ know my name Might pop me an Addy, I stay in my lane, yeah Double C’s, huh, yeah, Chanel the kicks, yeah I might go Louis or I might go Prada, s*** Mismatched fit, yeah Big body AMG with them tints, yeah We gon’ ride with them sticks, yeah Got it on my own, I had to grind Naw, they ain’t give me s*** (Naw, naw, naw) Hotbox crew, young n**** s***, yeah that Fox Five gang 2015, I was hell, yeah, I was stuck in with that thang Hang around with them real ones, yeah I swear I made a name From bandos, condos, Panamera for the rain Porsche 911 (911) Maybach coupe, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya) Big baguette, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya) Trappin’ just like [belly?] (Forreal) I keep guns like [belly?] (Forreal) This is foreign, not a Chevy (Forreal) Sound like Kid Cudi Smoke exotic with my buddy
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