Letra de Sippin - Icewear Vezzo

(Feat. Babyface Ray)

Nigga talkin' this lean shit, nigga, you know what's— (You can't fuck with us, nigga)

Really live this shit, nigga, Drank God

Yeah

Real Ghetto Boyz shit

Drank God (Got this shit on me right now, nigga)

All real, real trap niggas (Rich off pints for real)

We ain't none of these rap niggas (No cap, yeah)

(Iced Up Records)

Got dog shit in my pocket, all fives and twenties, look like the crack days (For real)

Got Quagen, Trishy, and Wock' up in my bag, I miss them Act' days (Yeah)

Shinin', nigga, rose gold 'Dweller on me brown like a frappé (Woo)

I hit my shells with chops and a whole lotta shooters, I still got trap ways

Yeah, don't hang with nothin' but robbers, jackboys, shiners, look at my homies (Ghetto Boyz)

Got a quarter bricky up in my Louis bag of that Calvin Broadus, nigga (That doggy)

Dog food, countin' up all blues, step back, I prone it

Walk in Hutch and drop 200K just to match my Rollie, yeah

Paid nigga, went and got my chain bigger, I fuck with gang members

I don't fuck with rappers, I'll crash out, take his shit, these niggas straight bitches, yeah (He pussy)

Long sleeve, that's that Caddy truck, sit that bitch on eight inches (For real)

Forgios, they look like Oreos, black and white, I'm Raven

Slide to Truth, treat that bitch like the dub, I'm on stage like Flay did it

Don't take no L's, got big F&N, alphabets, that K with us (Yeah)

F&H (What else?), big boy, rep the lakes, big stepper like Kevin Gates (Bitch)

An '80s nigga (What?), I'm a real crack baby, bitch, I came from Section 8

I'm drinkin' and drivin', I know it ain't safe, Glock, no safety

Big boy money, don't be callin' me baby

I'm doggin' her out, but she stalkin' and callin' me crazy (Fuck that btch)

Playin' with me, I pay 'em a fee and they walkin' on all of these lames (Get that nigga)

VVs all on my chain

TVs all in the Sprinter, I'm playin' the game (Yeah)

I'ma pourin' up-ass nigga, countin' my cash

I'ma be pitchin' the bag 'til the last inning (Yeah)

Backend boys, damn near doubled up twice, brought a bag with me (You know that)

I don't gossip, nigga, ask Wendy (You know that)

How you gang, you ain't ride with me? (How?)

How we opps, you ain't sent a shot, boy? (Lame)

25K, he'll hit the top, boy

Tied with the bird man, but I'm not a Hot Boy (Bitch)

On the couch, me and Meech, that's the real, my boy

Heard you gettin' money, how you feel, my boy? (How you feel, my nigga?)

Ayy, Saint Michaels, naw, this ain't Saint Laurent, got ten hoes takin' shots

Niggas sendin' threats, switch move just like a 'Vette, turn the crib to a vacant lot

I hate broke bitches, niggas who front a lot

I hate Tris and I hate the cops (Yeah)

I love codeine, freak bitch on her knees

Love money, so I make a lot (Ayy)

Money and lean, nah, I ain't changin' my ways, still eatin' at Zorbaz, nigga (Bitch)

Boy, you're a kid, don't stand next to my gang, your wrist ain't a quarter, nigga (Thirty)

Really a waiter, you know they hittin' my line, I'm fillin' they order, nigga (Bitch)

Money in boxes, startin' to run out of space, I feel like a hoarder, nigga

Fuckin' these hoes, soon as I get to that age, we fuckin' your daughter, nigga (Nigga)

Ran through the load, really, I need me a plug, take me to the border, nigga

Yeah

Fuck these niggas

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