Correction Paroles Blue Strips par GloFromDa4

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Paroles

Ewwwwww

Glock on my side, know he not finna shoot
He think that he hard, but he testing the rules
I was like six in the trap, not in school
I was like four, I was uppin' the score
I call the plug, told him if he need more
Call up my shooter, I think his name Mo
I'm in the trap with a Moncler Coat
I ain't no sheep, I feel like a goat
He was top three, but we made him the four
He said he shootin', we laugh, he a joke
Got a blue strip on me like it was a note
Say he in the field, I told him "No"
I want the bread, that's what I went for
B*t*h I am up, b*t*h you is low
She said spec hard, I told him I know

Uh (Pew)
Uh (Yeah)
Say he got guns, n***a, that sh*t cap
Stick to my side, I don't wanna scrap
N***a I'm fat, stomach overlap
I walk in the trap carrying the pack
Your new sh*t suck, n***a, you got patched
I feel like I'm Kobe, I'm smoking on thrax
I feel like I demon when I'm in that hellcat
You is a dumb n***a, you got hellbent
Opp pack, damn, I know you smell that
You wanna test me, you gon' feel that
Zaza in the pack, I'ma mail that
How you a trap n***a named Luther?
If I get cheated on, I'ma shoot her
I want a white ho, came from hooters
N***as be shooters, only on computers

Uh, Uh, Uh
African plug droppin' off, Alibaba (Uh, uh, uh, uh, yeah)
I'm in the Bronx, finna shoot at his matha (Yeah)
N***as be copying, like I'm your father (Uh, uh, uh, uh, yeah)
N***as be copying like I'm your papa
Watch how I slide, I'm doing the cha-cha
He say he hard, but his songs caca
He tryna ride the wave, like its aqua
(Brrr) Who callin' my phone? (Yeah)
I'm in the trap so leave me alone (Yeah)
So much bread, n***as ask for a loan
Oh that's your ho? She giving me dome
I got a black shooter named Jerome
He bout to slide on you at your home
I told him put Glo through the phone
He too busy shoppin' for some Chrome
(Brrr) Who calling me? B*t*h I'm in Saks
That f**k n***a play with the gang, he get whacked
You droppin' that song that shi— F**k
You droppin' that song that sh*t finna be wack
I hop in the coupe, that sh*t all black
The stick on my side, now you know I don't lack
I feel like I'm Uzi, I go get the racks
Got them Balmain jeans, Number (N)ine on the hat
Keep the stick tucked, Glock on my side, in the trap with the blick tucked
Hop in the SRT with your b*t*h, ten minutes later I'm gettin' my d**k sucked
Switchin' me over a b*t*h, that sh*t so crazy, you should get put in the mixer
7.62 in my Glock, I feel like Hilfiger, no I dont f**k with these n***as

No I don't f**k with nobody (Uh)
I got a Glock on my body, I promise you he try to rob me, I'm shootin' the lobby
Hop in the whip and I drive it, already told you I can't move, I got Percs in my body
Run up on him then we shot him, my shooter with wicks in his head like he Spotem no Gottem

on him

clip

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