More songs by Polo G
Description
Associated Performer: Polo G
Lyricist, Composer: Taurus Bartlett
Producer: Smatt
Mixing Engineer, Mastering Engineer, Recording Engineer: Todd Hurtt
Lyrics and translation
Original
I can know I'm runnin' late, I still won't check the time
Trenches days, my stomach used to ache just so my neck could shine
Hit her DM, she say, "Fly me out," I told her, "Never mind"
Reason I can fuck his bitch, I told her better lies
We was really servin' fentanyl, Kevin Federline
Swear to God I miss my dawgs, if I could press rewind
I'm like LeBron, when I ball, I'm in a better prime
I'm out here in the field, standin' tall, shots from his weapons flyin' (808 Mafia, bitch)
What's your gang? Throw up your flag, 40 bang, we on yo' ass
Shoppin' spree all through Rodeo, spent 10K just on one tag
Foenem steppin' in designer, 'Miri jeans, Chrome Heart match
Hot shit crease his top like liners, play with me, it's gon' go bad
Just a rich gangsta, technically ain't make it out the streets
Went through phases in this passion, think I finally reached my peak
Stool-pigeon-ass nigga, red beam tear off his beat
We'll put this shit right in your face, backdoors for when you sneak
Take vacations with my bae, when I love her, she a freak
I'm a stand-up-ass nigga, stick my chest out when I speak
Off them Perkies, he keep tryna tweak, he gon' slide for weeks
Fuck a mop, we bring them 30s out and, bitch, we tryna sweep
Painkillers like Excedrin, I'm high off medicine
If it's war, then, bitch, you better spin, we Chiraq veterans
Catch him with this bitch, this Nina hit his ho like lesbians
Like don't do that again, if 12 knockin', we won't let 'em in, huh
English translation
I can know I'm runnin' late, I still won't check the time
Trenches days, my stomach used to ache just so my neck could shine
Hit her DM, she say, "Fly me out," I told her, "Never mind"
Reason I can fuck his bitch, I told her better lies
We was really servin' fentanyl, Kevin Federline
Swear to God I miss my dawgs, if I could press rewind
I'm like LeBron, when I ball, I'm in a better prime
I'm out here in the field, standin' tall, shots from his weapons flyin' (808 Mafia, bitch)
What's your gang? Throw up your flag, 40 bang, we on yo' ass
Shoppin' spree all through Rodeo, spent 10K just on one tag
Foenem steppin' in designer, 'Miri jeans, Chrome Heart match
Hot shit crease his top like liners, play with me, it's gon' go bad
Just a rich gangsta, technically ain't make it out the streets
Went through phases in this passion, think I finally reached my peak
Stool-pigeon-ass nigga, red beam tear off his beat
We'll put this shit right in your face, backdoors for when you sneak
Take vacations with my bae, when I love her, she a freak
I'm a stand-up-ass nigga, stick my chest out when I speak
Off them Perkies, he keep tryna tweak, he gon' slide for weeks
Fuck a mop, we bring them 30s out and, bitch, we tryna sweep
Painkillers like Excedrin, I'm high off medicine
If it's war, then, bitch, you better spin, we Chiraq veterans
Catch him with this bitch, this Nina hit his ho like lesbians
Like don't do that again, if 12 knockin', we won't let 'em in, huh