big dog - fatpocket lyrics
[intro]
(yarri)
ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
you know what i’m sayin?
street n*gga, you know, they can’t f*ck with me (ayy, venzo, stay the f*ck out the kitchen)
you know, my money counter runnin’, all that sh*t, all that, all that
you know what i’m sayin? i talk that big sh*t all day, all day (okay, okay)
you know what i’m sayin’?
real motion getter, real block boy, real, real trap n*gga, you know what i’m sayin’?
[verse]
pocket on the corner, pocket from daytona (nah)
pocket from dland, turned the hood to california (yeah)
i’ve been having money problems because this sh*t come and go
but one thing about the pocket, i know how to get some more
got a bunch of n*ggas hatin’ on me, nah, we don’t mix
when i bump into you n*gga, pockets full of dog sh*t
i be ridin’ with the gang, tryna run my digits up
lately i’ve been feelin’ likе the f*ck n*ggas cliquin’ up
i’m the big dog in the hood, n*ggas know my namе
come shop with me, put a gas station on my chain
you remember i was broke then, i ain’t have sh*t
now every time i’m in the city, got a different bad b*tch
lady at the store, she told my mama i’m a drug dealer
why you tell her? she already know, she made a thug, n*gga
i be chasin’ after bands, but i’m f*cking up the profit
put my trust in nan n*gga, got my pistol in my pocket
we get money around this b*tch, hundred bands and you rich
i remember 12 pulled up, i had to jump the fence
you be tryna save a bunch of hoes, you can’t save them all
i don’t even know you n*ggas, don’t be callin’ me your dog
ain’t no smile on my face when i be tryna get this cash
made it out my situation, that sh*t turned me to a man
go and get a thousand ones, i wanna see this b*tch dance
said i wasn’t finna do it, now i’m f*ckin’ on the fan
my country boy called back, said he need more packs
i just seen him last week, he came and spent fifty racks
i was broke and you know you ain’t try to pick me up
took a hundred thousand to the a, wafi lit me up
you f*ckin’ with a boss, tell buddy get his bread up
fendi or some louis v, i’m tryna f*ck your head up
my white boy, he waitin’ on me with a big bag
i’ve been flyin’ all night, i done got jet lag
my california ho, she thicker than my georgia peach
i made thirty racks and went and jumped back in the sheets
i know the real you, you been lyin’ on them beats
gon’ be hard tryna sell that bullsh*t to the streets, n*gga
[outro]
haha
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