lirik lagu mob shit – scy jimm
[intro]
(rjbanks on the beat)
(can’t get down with the mob) yeah
(i had to let that .40 grrlah, extendo pop)
ayy (n*gga)
(can’t get down with the gang) yeah
(make that .40 bang) we extendo gang
fah, gloww
yeah, ayy
mmm, it’s y— gloww (fah, fah)
boww, yeah (yeah), hmm*hmm, ayy (gang sh*t)
ayy, ayy, f*ck n*gga (b*tch), ayy, ayy, gang sh*t (gang sh*t)
ayy, ayy, mob sh*t (gang sh*t)
[chorus]
n*gga, we ain’t cool, you can’t get down with the mob (get down with the mob)
where the f*ck you was when i was outchea tryna rob, n*gga? (ayy, when i was outchea tryna rob)
where the f*ck you was when we had shootouts with the opps? (we had shootouts, gloww, boww)
thought this sh*t was sweet, i had to let that .40 pop (i had to let that .40 go)
i’m slidin’ with a bis*xual glock up in the coupe (ayy, hey, why?)
‘causе this b*tch’ll blow at n*ggas, b*tches, too (ayy, b*tches, too)
they say a young n*gga couldn’t gеt they racks, i’m livin’ proof (b*tch, i’m livin’ proof)
criss angel money, i drop that bag, you gon’ go poof (ayy, he gone)
[verse]
make a n*gga body shake with this fn (hoo, gloww)
i put thirty on my glock like i’m stephen (ayy, come on, man)
y’all must use the elevator ’cause y’all ain’t steppin’ (ayy, on god, n*gga)
young n*gga hot, booth catch on fire every time i step in (hoo, hoo)
blue tips and blue strips (huh?)
can’t do no dirt with n*ggas, all y’all got loose lips
hey, f*ck lil’ shawty good, now she got loose hips
hit yo’ block, you better duck like it’s a f*ckin’ goose here, n*gga (gloww, ayy, gloww, ayy, gloww, yeah)
three*five in my ‘wood, i don’t play for the nets (i don’t play for the nets)
i was skippin’ school (ayy), you was teacher’s pet, n*gga
k5 in the cut, he tryna find some sh*t to stretch
shawty ride the d*ck just like a bike, she know i’m next
[chorus]
n*gga, we ain’t cool, you can’t get down with the mob (get down with the mob)
where the f*ck you was when i was outchea tryna rob, n*gga? (ayy, when i was outchea tryna rob)
where the f*ck you was when we had shootouts with the opps? (we had shootouts, gloww, boww)
thought this sh*t was sweet, i had to let that .40 pop (i had to let that .40 go)
i’m slidin’ with a bis*xual glock up in the coupe (ayy, hey, why?)
’cause this b*tch’ll blow at n*ggas, b*tches, too (ayy, b*tches, too)
they say a young n*gga couldn’t get they racks, i’m livin’ proof (b*tch, i’m livin’ proof)
criss angel money, i drop that bag, you gon’ go poof (ayy, he gone)
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