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lirik lagu sippin – icewear vezzo

[intro: icewear vezzo]
n*gga talkin’ this lean sh*t, n*gga, you know what’s— (you can’t f*ck with us, n*gga)
really live this sh*t, n*gga, drank god
yeah
real ghetto boyz sh*t
drank god (got this sh*t on me right now, n*gga)
all real, real trap n*ggas (rich off pints for real)
we ain’t none of these rap n*ggas (no cap, yeah)
(iced up records)

[verse 1: icewear vezzo]
got dog sh*t in my pocket, all fives and twenties, look like the crack days (for real)
got quagen, trishy, and wock’ up in my bag, i miss them act’ days (yeah)
shinin’, n*gga, rose gold ‘dweller on me brown like a frappé (woo)
i hit my sh*lls with chops and a whole lotta shooters, i still got trap ways
yeah, don’t hang with nothin’ but robbers, jackboys, shiners, look at my homies (ghetto boyz)
got a quarter bricky up in my louis bag of that calvin broadus, n*gga (that doggy)
dog food, countin’ up all blues, stеp back, i pr*ne it
walk in hutch and drop 200k just to match my rollie, yeah
paid n*gga, wеnt and got my chain bigger, i f*ck with gang members
i don’t f*ck with rappers, i’ll crash out, take his sh*t, these n*ggas straight b*tches, yeah (he p*ssy)
long sleeve, that’s that caddy truck, sit that b*tch on eight inches (for real)
forgios, they look like oreos, black and white, i’m raven
slide to truth, treat that b*tch like the dub, i’m on stage like flay did it
don’t take no l’s, got big f&n, alphabets, that k with us (yeah)
f&h (what else?), big boy, rep the lakes, big stepper like kevin gates (b*tch)
an ’80s n*gga (what?), i’m a real crack baby, b*tch, i came from section 8
[verse 2: babyface ray]
i’m drinkin’ and drivin’, i know it ain’t safe, glock, no safety
big boy money, don’t be callin’ me baby
i’m d*gg*n’ her out, but she stalkin’ and callin’ me crazy (f*ck that btch)
playin’ with me, i pay ’em a fee and they walkin’ on all of these lames (get that n*gga)
vvs all on my chain
tvs all in the sprinter, i’m playin’ the game (yeah)
i’ma pourin’ up*ass n*gga, countin’ my cash
i’ma be pitchin’ the bag ’til the last inning (yeah)
backend boys, d*mn near doubled up twice, brought a bag with me (you know that)
i don’t gossip, n*gga, ask wendy (you know that)
how you gang, you ain’t ride with me? (how?)
how we opps, you ain’t sent a shot, boy? (lame)
25k, he’ll hit the top, boy
tied with the bird man, but i’m not a hot boy (b*tch)
on the couch, me and meech, that’s the real, my boy
heard you gettin’ money, how you feel, my boy? (how you feel, my n*gga?)
ayy, saint michaels, naw, this ain’t saint laurent, got ten hoes takin’ shots
n*ggas sendin’ threats, switch move just like a ‘vette, turn the crib to a vacant lot
i hate broke b*tches, n*ggas who front a lot
i hate tris and i hate the cops (yeah)
i love codeine, freak b*tch on her knees
love money, so i make a lot (ayy)
money and lean, nah, i ain’t changin’ my ways, still eatin’ at zorbaz, n*gga (b*tch)
boy, you’re a kid, don’t stand next to my gang, your wrist ain’t a quarter, n*gga (thirty)
really a waiter, you know they hittin’ my line, i’m fillin’ they order, n*gga (b*tch)
money in boxes, startin’ to run out of sp*ce, i feel like a h**rder, n*gga
f*ckin’ these hoes, soon as i get to that age, we f*ckin’ your daughter, n*gga (n*gga)
ran through the load, really, i need me a plug, take me to the border, n*gga
yeah
[outro: babyface ray]
f*ck these n*ggas

- icewear vezzo

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