[Verse 1: Young Jeezy]
When you know I’m in the Chi, you know I fuck with L.E.P
And you know it’s CTE until the fuckin’ death of me
What you niggas wanna do? You know it’s 30 for a girl
Nigga commas on my commas, motherfucker, it’s the world
Black bandanas on them llamas, my lil’ niggas piranhas
Up early in the AM, count a half mill’ in my pyjamas
These rap niggas be frontin’ – I’m a real nigga, I be stuntin’
See me a certified street nigga all the bad bitches be wantin’
Nigga, 250, 125 – nigga, all that on the table
Take ‘em out, now let ‘em dry, then I flip them bitches like Egos
Got… in my garage, got units all in my basement
Them ARs with a hundred rounds, swear the cars look like the Matrix
Got grams all on my scale… bag full of that mail
A hundred racks off in the safe house, and I’m savin’ that shit for bail
One time for my lawyer, ten-out-of-ten a nigga’ll beat the charge
Show up to court in an Armani suit, way cooler than Chico the Boss
[Verse 2: Count]
My wrist’s out as I hit the corner, them 50-pointers bling hard
Got a million dollars in the bank and I’m still swiping that Link Card
50 large in that shoebox, the rest, do that on debit
Not only that, I feed the killers, I cleaned up all their credit
See, I ain’t startin’ no rap beef, but we got heat, got money
Touch me and you gon’ see just how much loyalty niggas got for me
Walk inside that studio and start squeezing off in that bitch
Way y’all been falling out you would think I had lean off in them clips
With that said, pull it, nigga – I’ve got boxes on top of bullets, nigga
With a big, stupid-ass cannon on me
You ain’t never catchin’ no footage, nigga
When you know I’m in the Chi, you know I fuck with L.E.P
And you know it’s CTE until the fuckin’ death of me
What you niggas wanna do? You know it’s 30 for a girl
Nigga commas on my commas, motherfucker, it’s the world
Black bandanas on them llamas, my lil’ niggas piranhas
Up early in the AM, count a half mill’ in my pyjamas
These rap niggas be frontin’ – I’m a real nigga, I be stuntin’
See me a certified street nigga all the bad bitches be wantin’
Nigga, 250, 125 – nigga, all that on the table
Take ‘em out, now let ‘em dry, then I flip them bitches like Egos
Got… in my garage, got units all in my basement
Them ARs with a hundred rounds, swear the cars look like the Matrix
Got grams all on my scale… bag full of that mail
A hundred racks off in the safe house, and I’m savin’ that shit for bail
One time for my lawyer, ten-out-of-ten a nigga’ll beat the charge
Show up to court in an Armani suit, way cooler than Chico the Boss
[Verse 2: Count]
My wrist’s out as I hit the corner, them 50-pointers bling hard
Got a million dollars in the bank and I’m still swiping that Link Card
50 large in that shoebox, the rest, do that on debit
Not only that, I feed the killers, I cleaned up all their credit
See, I ain’t startin’ no rap beef, but we got heat, got money
Touch me and you gon’ see just how much loyalty niggas got for me
Walk inside that studio and start squeezing off in that bitch
Way y’all been falling out you would think I had lean off in them clips
With that said, pull it, nigga – I’ve got boxes on top of bullets, nigga
With a big, stupid-ass cannon on me
You ain’t never catchin’ no footage, nigga
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