CORRECT LYRICS
Lyrics : Solid
Mmm
Mmm-mmm
Yeah, f**k it, let me pop my sh*t one time
Nobody got hit, spin the block again (Yeah, yeah)
I done been too solid, something got to give (Yeah, yeah)
Rockin' real diamonds before I got the deal
Through the grace of God, we got away, so now we gotta chill
They thought it was rap cap and I told ’em that I got a mil'
You can get whatever if you ask me, you ain't gotta steal
My lil’ woadie said he fightin' demons, feel like he gotta kill
And I just left the hood to catch a vibe and that sh*t give me chills
One hand on my steering wheel, other arm to work the blicky
I'ma be forever gang but smart enough to keep my distance
Product of the real trenches, that's why I wear a trench coat
Damn near f**ked my life gamblin', bet it all on ten-to-four
Rap get slow, I'm sellin' loads, can't get caught with no skinny ho
Can’t get caught with no ho at all, b*t*h, don’t slam my door that hard
I pull up like, "Oh my Lawd," she gon' shop, she hold my card
Glock four-fifth my bodyguard, I sip syrup, no noddin’ off
If you know you owe me, better come and pay me, better not be a dollar short
I done took the game, put it in a lock, I ain't even try
Lookin' like a lick, tryna play slick, n***a, you'll die
Comin’ from the bricks, I ain't had sh*t, now the new Coupe 125
Yeah
Mmm-mmm
Yeah, f**k it, let me pop my sh*t one time
Nobody got hit, spin the block again (Yeah, yeah)
I done been too solid, something got to give (Yeah, yeah)
Rockin' real diamonds before I got the deal
Through the grace of God, we got away, so now we gotta chill
They thought it was rap cap and I told ’em that I got a mil'
You can get whatever if you ask me, you ain't gotta steal
My lil’ woadie said he fightin' demons, feel like he gotta kill
And I just left the hood to catch a vibe and that sh*t give me chills
One hand on my steering wheel, other arm to work the blicky
I'ma be forever gang but smart enough to keep my distance
Product of the real trenches, that's why I wear a trench coat
Damn near f**ked my life gamblin', bet it all on ten-to-four
Rap get slow, I'm sellin' loads, can't get caught with no skinny ho
Can’t get caught with no ho at all, b*t*h, don’t slam my door that hard
I pull up like, "Oh my Lawd," she gon' shop, she hold my card
Glock four-fifth my bodyguard, I sip syrup, no noddin’ off
If you know you owe me, better come and pay me, better not be a dollar short
I done took the game, put it in a lock, I ain't even try
Lookin' like a lick, tryna play slick, n***a, you'll die
Comin’ from the bricks, I ain't had sh*t, now the new Coupe 125
Yeah
