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lirik lagu bird flu – glockboyz teejaee

[intro: glockboyz teejaee]
mhm, glockboyz, n*gga
free broad day, you know the vibes, n*gga
you know what the f*ck goin’ on, ayy

[chorus: glockboyz teejaee]
remember gucci dropped that bird flu in 2007
before i kept a gun and could lose my life any second
probably way better than jail, but free my n*ggas out of heaven
i tap bro like, “press record”, and i start preachin’ like the reverend
the good die young, i don’t know what roddy was talkin’ ’bout
with a fifty round they shot my n*gga at his mama house
seven days straight, man, it wasn’t sh*t for us to cry about
ridin’ ’round the city like we was tryna buy a house

[verse 1: glockboyz teejaee]
ask around, man, i still be on that dumb sh*ts a kid
man, f*ck all them views, i like huntin’ sh*t
man, still be with them n*ggas out hеre runnin’ sh*t
man, i was in the streets when i was a kid, i don’t know how to play, don’t touch sh*t
ayy, tеll the n*gga it’s for sure just bring a hundred clips, i got a hundred guns
ayy, we ain’t gon’ talk about the choppers, we got a hundred of ’em
with a hundred on it
i’m mad as h*ll, we made the news, we need another stolie
these n*ggas soulja boys, i don’t crank that
you got a big draco in my hood, i might just take that
man, these n*ggas lil bow wow, they be big cappin’
how i be hidin’? every day i be in big traffic with mag on me
n*ggas out here broke as h*ll, already they just has*beens
i’m already on the next wave, you can come and get a splash from me
wasn’t goin’ to school unless i had some sh*t like my dad money
stash money, cash money, juvenile
my n*ggas stupid wild, we ride around, two hundred rounds
in the hood like tommy be with jerry, don’t bring no rats around
man, you ran, right? you really ain’t got your gun, brody, pat ’em down
man, you can’t come around no more, we already gunned you down
[chorus: glockboyz teejaee]
remember gucci dropped that bird flu in 2007
before i kept a gun and could lose my life any second
probably way better than jail, but free my n*ggas out of heaven
i tap bro like, “press record”, and i start preachin’ like the reverend
i know the good die young, i don’t know what roddy was talkin’ ’bout
with a fifty round they shot my n*gga at his mama house
seven days straight, but it wasn’t sh*t for us to cry about
ridin’ around the city like we was tryna buy a house

[verse 2: sk!lla baby]
bird flu, what that mean, bricks in the air?
next season mike amiri on, these b*tches rare
i got ten times what i paid stuffed in every pair
drum kit on my sticks, i don’t like the snare
i get a n*gga pressed like a b*tton
i got power, i can turn him to a ghost, that ain’t nothin’
i’ll beat a n*gga ass for real, scr*ppin’ with my cousin
and they always pass me the strap, ’cause i’m bustin’
rob his ass? hm, nah, drop his ass
ice on, stick on me, slidin’ in a hockey mask
he don’t wanna die, how many times i gotta pop his ass?
take off on a opp, jimmy neutron, gotta blast (ha)
these hoes, hm, do what we say
teejaee got a bucket, i wish i could see the replay
i like the opps music, i don’t say sh*t to the dj
my shooter come from down south, bowls come from la (mm)
rucci kicks on the whip, where the valet?
we get frontends and backends and back pay
got the hoes in, all of my friends in, the straps in
[?][2:25], i gotta put the sh*t on pause when the birds fly in (huh?)

- glockboyz teejaee

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