Gotham City A$AP Mob (Ft. A$AP Ferg, A$AP NAST & A$AP Twelvyy)
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Gotham City" by A$AP Mob (Ft. A$AP Ferg, A$AP NAST & A$AP Twelvyy). 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.
[Chorus: A$AP Ferg]
Point 'em out, where he at? Chrome nine, point the MAC
Sit him down in the trap, four pound for the strap
Big guns go "B'lat!" A$AP where it's at
Real niggas, all black, sip lean, so relax
Point em out where he at, chrome nine point the Mac
Sit him down in the trap, four pound for the strap
Big guns go "B'lat!" A$AP where it's at
Real niggas, all black, Cozy Boys, so relax
[Verse 1: A$AP Ferg]
Young Trap Lord, dime of the purp
Ride or die boy, nigga get murked
Pull a nine boy, play with the dirt
Laying on who sleep in the earth
She feel on my clothes, she lifting her skirt
She say she love coke, she sniffin the work
Semi-auto Tec, guns go flur
Bang, bang-bang and another one squirt
Givenchy my body, Ksubi my colleagues
Versace, my eyelids, but it Yves Saint-Laurent me
Twelvyy in Huraches, and Margiela on Rocky
Yohji Yamamoto for Ty Nast and Ty Beats
Fuck bitches that's on me, wack bitches move kindly
Last niggas of a dying breed, yeah me, myself, and Irene
Niggas hear them sirens when that four-fif' and that nine squeeze
China bitch sip sake, while I chop that ass with that Tommy
Point 'em out, where he at? Chrome nine, point the MAC
Sit him down in the trap, four pound for the strap
Big guns go "B'lat!" A$AP where it's at
Real niggas, all black, sip lean, so relax
Point em out where he at, chrome nine point the Mac
Sit him down in the trap, four pound for the strap
Big guns go "B'lat!" A$AP where it's at
Real niggas, all black, Cozy Boys, so relax
[Verse 1: A$AP Ferg]
Young Trap Lord, dime of the purp
Ride or die boy, nigga get murked
Pull a nine boy, play with the dirt
Laying on who sleep in the earth
She feel on my clothes, she lifting her skirt
She say she love coke, she sniffin the work
Semi-auto Tec, guns go flur
Bang, bang-bang and another one squirt
Givenchy my body, Ksubi my colleagues
Versace, my eyelids, but it Yves Saint-Laurent me
Twelvyy in Huraches, and Margiela on Rocky
Yohji Yamamoto for Ty Nast and Ty Beats
Fuck bitches that's on me, wack bitches move kindly
Last niggas of a dying breed, yeah me, myself, and Irene
Niggas hear them sirens when that four-fif' and that nine squeeze
China bitch sip sake, while I chop that ass with that Tommy
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