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1 hmm - 3200 tre lyrics

[intro]
it’s thirty, come on
come on, mm, alright (elmo, what the f*ck?)

[verse]
my n*gga elmo cooked the beat, i gotta tweak on it
i’on think my twitter slap, i don’t tweet on it
the dope ain’t clean if you cannot put your feet on it
i’ll never do a show without my heat on me
i blew the engine in my charger, they put a jeep on me
i done woke the whole house up, how you sleep on me?
this b*tch ride d*ck like a frog, she d*mn near leaped on me
p*ssy squirt, i’on care how you feel, i think you pee’d on me
i’on think you n*ggas understand where i be comin’ from
i tried to blow my bl!ck but the b*tch jammed, i grabbed another gun
sh*t crazy, you woulda thought i went to band, i seen a hunnid’ drums
you gettin’ hands from every n*gga in the van, we don’t do one on ones
what the f*ck? my doctor think i’m r*t*rded, i’m sayin, “f*ck my lungs”
everything i say gon’ hit a lil’ harder, i’m really from the slums
this b*tch mouth ain’t got a tooth, she tryna give me gums
when i leave my house, it ain’t for one swerve, i got like twenty runs
i’m not a scammer but i’m sittin’ on eleven accounts
they don’t know i’m sittin’ in my living room, it look dead in the house
i got a pretty face freak wit’ a mess in her mouth
don’t really care for the coochie, but i mess wit’ her mouth
come on, how you speak on n*ggas havin’ and you never had it?
my face hot, they know me everywhere, i be in traffic
just ’cause you think you a bad b*tch, don’t mean you a bad b*tch
like if your n*gga makin’ pape’, you ‘pose to help him stack it
bro got rich off sellin’ ice, i call it mathematics
i’on f*ck wit’ politics, i f*ck wit’ debit crackers
if they had a real n*gga test, i bet i pass it
bro on fire wit’ the ball, i’m not gon’ let him pass it
alright, i got tired of playin’ for fun, i switched the game mode
i ain’t have time hit the crib, so i couldn’t change clothes
you ain’t got no real ‘za, you sellin’ sprayed ‘bows
everything ’bout me dark but my chain glows
n0body speak when they see me, i got a mug to me
my head f*cked up, i’m traumatized, just give a hug to me
that sh*t weak, they don’t try to solve they problems, they just run to me
how the f*ck do i owe you? you ain’t give nothin’ to me
when everybody left, the pape’ the only thing that showed love to me
i just squared up wit’ life, they threw gloves to me
prayed to god for a bag, he threw a plug to me
i told ’em i, “wasn’t poppin’ out”, they brought the club to me
i’m my number one fan, i like to hear myself
i’m one of them, i’ll pay me for a feature, then clear myself
i don’t need n0body else to make me happy, i can cheer myself
if i can pop up somewhere, i’ll appear myself
okay, i was wrappin’ up sh*t, before i rapped a bar
the f*ck you mean, i can’t drive? i never crashed the car
when we f*ck, she gotta put her bonnet on, so i don’t sn*tch her part
the b*tch you wit’ not a fan of your music, she don’t rap your part
[outro]
like when you play your part on the song wit’ us, she still be rappin’ our sh*t
haha, ’cause we the real money counter, mine boyz, b*tch
yeah, that’s good

- 3200 tre lyrics

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