3 High DY Krazy (Ft. Yung Mal)
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "3 High" by DY Krazy (Ft. Yung Mal). Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
[Intro]
DY Krazy
[Chorus: Yung Mal]
Bustdown
Diamonds all over, them bitches be hittin' retarded
I ain't wifin' a bitch
Now I got me a sack, they gon' fuck my regardless
Niggas be hatin', gotta stay with that chopper like Harley
She got that brain like she went to Harvard
Came up out the dirt, I swear we was starving
Now I pull up and I skrrt in foreigns
Go crazy, huh, DY
Had to recount that cash, three high
Nigga play with the gang, bye-bye
I be sellin' them bags until them hoes run out
We run through the back, 12 pull up and spot
Yo, we got it hot, I'm talkin' FBI
Signed to Guwop, now I trap in my Reeboks
Pull up to the trap in that shit you can't buy (Iceburg)
[Verse 1: Yung Mal]
My niggas didn't break me off none of they pie
Everything out the mud, I swear I can't lie
I know they gon' try, but the stick gon' fire
Do a show out of state, now I gotta fly
The hood been fire hot
I got that cash, I flex on they ass like Popeye
My diamonds gon' make they ass fall out
The hood on my back, I swear I'm goin' all out
Bustdown Rollie hittin', laser
Iceburg, DY, huh, major
Turned they back, they fake, traitor
Get your ho back, I slayed her
Niggas mad 'cause I ball on they ass, huh, fader
You ain't speakin' cash, gotta call you back, talk to you later
DY Krazy
[Chorus: Yung Mal]
Bustdown
Diamonds all over, them bitches be hittin' retarded
I ain't wifin' a bitch
Now I got me a sack, they gon' fuck my regardless
Niggas be hatin', gotta stay with that chopper like Harley
She got that brain like she went to Harvard
Came up out the dirt, I swear we was starving
Now I pull up and I skrrt in foreigns
Go crazy, huh, DY
Had to recount that cash, three high
Nigga play with the gang, bye-bye
I be sellin' them bags until them hoes run out
We run through the back, 12 pull up and spot
Yo, we got it hot, I'm talkin' FBI
Signed to Guwop, now I trap in my Reeboks
Pull up to the trap in that shit you can't buy (Iceburg)
[Verse 1: Yung Mal]
My niggas didn't break me off none of they pie
Everything out the mud, I swear I can't lie
I know they gon' try, but the stick gon' fire
Do a show out of state, now I gotta fly
The hood been fire hot
I got that cash, I flex on they ass like Popeye
My diamonds gon' make they ass fall out
The hood on my back, I swear I'm goin' all out
Bustdown Rollie hittin', laser
Iceburg, DY, huh, major
Turned they back, they fake, traitor
Get your ho back, I slayed her
Niggas mad 'cause I ball on they ass, huh, fader
You ain't speakin' cash, gotta call you back, talk to you later
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