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lirik lagu 52 (original) – chief keef

[intro: chief keef]
i’m marty mcfly
fly, i’m marty mcfly
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
fly, i’m marty mcfly
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
fly, i’m marty mcfly
fly, i’m marty mcfly
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
b*tch, bang, ayy
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

[verse 1: chief keef]
n*gga, what the f*ck is you talkin’ bout? sh*t, i know
n*gga, what you wanna get hit with?
this .45 or this .40? n*gga, this 30 or this 50?
this fn, this semi or this k?
n*gga, you and your friend need to go play, b*tch
ya looking for me? i’m outta state, b*tch
he ain’t on sh*t (on, sh*t, ayy)
remember your play shoes and play fit, b*tch!
she be f*ckin’, you wanna taste d*ck?
bro hand me the bl!ck and i’m like “it’s lit”
f*ck is talm ’bout? we waitin’ for you outside of my house
matter of fact, we ain’t gon’ do that, i ain’t gangster
we gon’ catch yo’ lil b*tch ass eatin’ glasher, let’s get it
dope got a n*gga lookin’ like he from asia
and my cup pinker than eraser
yeah, i rock designer but this ain’t none major
yeah n*gga, you a snitch, it’s on paper
yeah, i be ballin’ on ’em, indiana pacers
i be f*ckin’ hoes, thinkin’ that i’m a slater
call virgil, tell ’em bring me up some off white
these n*ggas all barkin’, no bite
we lettin’ pistols off, won’t fight
baby, these big b’s, no mikes
when sh*t turn left, n*gga, turn right
my b*tch steady talkin’ ’bout sh*t she don’t like
while i got big stacks, your height
boy, i got big sh*lls, your size
man, i swear i tell no lies
ask og’s, i got street ties
boy, you won’t knock down a b*high
runnin’ to the max, spend a mini max
up choppers on ’em, blow the n*gga high
when he get in the car, man, he finna cry
countin’ these checks and care about pretty sides
i call a double drum, congo, b*tch
spent my whole life in a jungle, b*tch
did a couple times in a cell, b*tch
now, when you see me, i’m grindin’ down in that rail, b*tch
[verse 2: tadoe]
one time for the go, two times for the bro
three times for the rolls, four times for the folks
five times for the moes, five shots through your throat
six for the f*ckin’ gangsters, seven for this f*ckin’ pole, .357
eight for the f*ckin’ b*lls, send you to heaven
straight drop white walls, nina tucked off in my draws
ten bands for a call a get you smoked
mac*11 with my shorty’ll get you poked
you know we don’t f*ck with 12
thirteen guns up on the shelf
popped fourteen opps by myself
fifteen like i’m f*ckin’ melo
sixteen, shot my d*mn beretto
17 my f*ckin’ glock
eighteen, standing on the pot
nineteen, serving on the block
twenty, i was getting guap
21, i got shot, he got hit with a mop
22, it was the glock
23 like i’m jordan
24, i’m scoring like kobe
25 in my .30
26, i’m still rich
27 bands for my wrist
28s up on my trackhawk
29s up in the traphouse
with the 30 make me spazz out
31 off in this 40
[verse 3: chief keef]
32 like juicemannn
i got that .33, call 911 emergency (b*tch)
got 34 calls this week from folks that’s fighting first degree
got 35 shots in this glock 19 if you think bout hurtin’ me
got 36 hoes that’s texting my phone that’s tryna twerk for me
got 37 thousand on me (b*tch)
bought 38 f*ckin’ guns (b*tch)
39 of these n*ggas my son
i’m gonna give you ’bout 40 to run
got 41 magazines
42 of my hoes acting mean
i’ma be 43 with a beam
.44 gon’ sing what it sing
i’ma be 45 rockin’ gucci
46, yeah, i’m fly like i’m lucci
47, gettin’ more than a medusa
48, have b*tches sign my boots
49, still riding in them coupes
been 50 shoot 50 n*gga, just shoot
send 51 n*ggas get up with you
they don’t catch you here come another 52

- chief keef

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