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lirik lagu hotlist – ysr gramz

[intro]
(enrgy made this one)

[verse 1: ysr gramz]
i been stuntin’ since a youngin, now i’m sak runnin’
when i touch my first m, i’ma tat the sak runner
told lil’ bro watch the block, let us know if the ‘cat comin’
doggy got popped last week, now he back thuggin’
i see you dropped your first chain, n*gga, that’s nothin’
i’ma ride for my dog like we blood cousins
told kidd i got his back ’cause we mud brothers
i’m in cali, not at home, got some drugs comin’
n*ggas hard on the ‘net, but they love duckin’
love money, don’t love hoes, but i love f*ckin’
my n*gga like to shoot to k!ll, he don’t love nothin’
my lil’ n*gga fell in love with pills, he a love junkie
how is you a real n*gga, don’t give your dogs nothin’?
if i fall off right now, i know my dogs comin’
he got pitbulls for sale, he a dog lovеr
put a switch on the glock, they can’t take covеr
[verse 2: icewear vezzo]
yeah, ghetto baby, all my n*ggas on that hotlist (on that hotlist)
rich as f*ck, still grind like i ain’t got sh*t (for real, n*gga)
you got a plain rollie on, that’s a stock wrist (that’s a plain jane)
up that mopstick, n*ggas opps and still ain’t drop sh*t (ain’t drop nothin’)
buy the load off the plug, we ain’t splittin’ bags (nah)
thirty thousand in my pants, this my tippin’ bag (thirty bands)
audemars with vvs, spent a brick and half (vvss)
trap money, real displayer, twenties trippin’ fast (fast, n*gga)
made a million off of shows, i bought eighty sticks (no cap)
in the club, f*ck a party, b*tch, we takin’ kits (p*ssy)
lil’ gang ‘nem whackin’ sh*t for an eight of tris (for an eight)
heavy bag, dog too strong, it ain’t takin’ fent’ (woo)
i ain’t beefin’ with no rapper, i got real money (i got real paper)
slide in hutch, f*ck around and spend your deal money (hah)
pour a pint of quagen up, sn*tch the seal off it
dead presidents in my safe, that’s a real coffin (that’s a real coffin)
richest n*gga that my neighborhood done ever seen (facts)
new rolls*royce, crack the forgios on evergreen (sh*t)
burnt out off the mud, pour the red in threes (threes)
had more cheese than they havin’ now when i was sellin’ lean (n*ggas ever seen)
you want the jewelry that i got, you gotta get a bag (gotta run it up)
we came up from that old boy just like k!lla cam (oh, that dog food)
yeah, twenty*sixes on the track’, look like i’m in a ram
froze wrist, count up dog sh*t with my n*gga gramz, b*tch (what it look like?)
[verse 3: ysr gramz]
he don’t know if he gon’ shoot, is he cut or not?
oh, that’s only a twenty*ball, n*gga, cut it out
send a hundred at they crib, now they runnin’ out
they was beefin’ last year, now they brothers now
i don’t like my n*ggas in the club, they be buggin’ out
bro was f*cked up last year, he get money now
we got twenty ‘bows in this crib, get off clubhouse
he dropped out of school, he sixteen, he got a dub now
i know n*ggas that drop sh*t, make me call ’em up
i’ll put my gun down, you get knotted up
got into it with my pockets, now they knotted up
i see you posting lil’ money, that’s just not enough
hit his ass with a fifty, he can’t get back up
if i ever fall off, i’ma get back up
i don’t give a f*ck what gun it is long as that b*tch bust
i don’t like to hang with n*ggas that be actin’ tough
i had to give my son a whoopin’, he was actin’ up
we them n*ggas that started everything, these n*ggas act like us

- ysr gramz

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