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mia vibes - big steff & chicken p lyrics

[intro: big steff]
like they love to see me hurt
they ain’t get off for me, so why should i?
this sh*t for real, n*gga

[verse 1: big steff]
hmm, all that showin’ love got me hurt, this sh*t feel like a curse (yeah)
but a blessing at the same time, i’m dumpin’ on the first (brrt)
i’m in here cooking like a sunday, i’ll take my headie right to church
i had to watch my brother go like you ain’t know this sh*t get worse (that sh*t f*cked me up)
this sh*t wasn’t easy, but i made a way (i made a way)
now when i pop it, i be seein’ hate all in they face (i see it in they face, n*gga)
i love the profit, i be stashin’ g’s all in the safe (i put it in the safe)
this sh*t get rocky, i drop in the glass and twist away (i get to twistin’ sh*t, i drop it in the water, n*gga)
like how you tryna f*ck with me? come put your stash up (yeah)
runnin’ through the west, just me and louie, we ain’t had nothin’ (no, we ain’t had sh*t)
i might hit my knees and talk to god, i feel that bad comin’ (i gotta talk to god)
thinkin’ how they did my brother, i be out here tryna tag somethin’

[verse 2: baby geeze]
they used to like a n*gga better when i ain’t have nothin’
i jumped up off the porch, i had to go and get the jacks jumpin’
rubber band it by the five, i could show you how to stack money
bust a book down to dimes, i’m a real*life trap dummy
ran this sh*t up out the ground, now they quick to say i act funny (huh?)
i came louis head to toe, i spent some thousands on this sh*t
all them nights blended up, i made thousands off the mix
i’ma smash any time i hear them sirens tryna fl!ck (i gotta go, i gotta go)
too many grams, n*gga, i can’t do no stoppin’ in this b*tch
[verse 3: mariboy mula mar]
yeah, honeycomb my d*mn setting
all my b*tches bad, you won’t catch me with no d*mn seven
ten thousand dollars cash, i just make this sh*t before 11
all blues on me, i ain’t got no change for a hundred
with my spanish b*tch, she tryna listen to some bad bunny
i’m bustin’ open bags in this b*tch, it got the trap funky
you would swore my b*tch got a bbl, yeah, it’s that chunky
you get five ‘bows for sixty*five, i don’t need you to do the math for me

[verse 4: chicken p]
i get thousands just to talk, yeah, i got the gift of gab, don’t i?
hundred thousand in this car, try to fl!ck me and i’m gon’ stab on ’em
yeah, my lil’ n*gga strikin’ sh*t, he ride ’round with his pad on him
ayy, these n*ggas bleed like b*tches, probably ridin’ ’round with a pad on ’em
mm, the hate gettin’ real, boy, it ain’t my fault your bag gone
got that big b*tch on me, make me walk like i got a cast on
you ain’t got a hustle in these streets, you ain’t gon’ last long
use your head before you n*ggas play with me, i’ll put a bag on it

- big steff chicken p lyrics

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