Your native language

عربي

Arabic

عربي

简体中文

Chinese

简体中文

Nederlands

Dutch

Nederlands

Français

French

Français

Deutsch

German

Deutsch

Italiano

Italian

Italiano

日本語

Japanese

日本語

한국인

Korean

한국인

Polski

Polish

Polski

Português

Portuguese

Português

Română

Romanian

Română

Русский

Russian

Русский

Español

Spanish

Español

Türk

Turkish

Türk

Українська

Ukrainian

Українська
User Avatar

Sound


Interface


Difficulty level


Accent



interface language

en

Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Cookie policy   |   Support   |   FAQ
1
register / login
Lyrkit

donate

5$

Lyrkit

donate

10$

Lyrkit

donate

20$

Lyrkit

And/Or support me in social. networks:


Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Freddie Gibbs

The Blow

 

The Blow

(album: Fetti - 2018)


Yeah, yeah
Nigga just, you know what I'm saying, the king of, you know
King of talking shit
Yeah, yeah
(You don't know how far, you don't know how much, you don't go, when you fucking with the blow)
Yeah, we going
Yeah, yeah yeah

[Freddie Gibbs:]
Choppa style, chop chop, choppa style

Shout to Ghazi, Arabic numbers in my Rollie dial

My baby said if I be faithful, she gone hold me down (Real shit)
I'm fucking these hoes, I want it all like an only child
About to take a trip, I got coke and dope on my grocery list
Oxycontin pack, I be switching rackets like Djokovic

Stood up on my demon, the machine ain't never promoted this
Coldest nigga you ever heard on Alan or Otis shit

(And you know this shit)
Bitch, it's liquid golden when I'm over shit (Yeah)
I fill up the track like a Mr. T starter kit, spit the hardest shit
I should grow a motherfucking mohawk and get a black van with a red stripe

Nigga say I got 'em for his weight, I shot him in his face
That pussy boy was dead right (Dead right)
It's just a freestyle, let a nigga breathe
I don't know what's worse
To have the IRS or have your baby mamas in a nigga's cheese

Had to cut a couple bitches off
I guess they used to think that they was out a nigga league
Ghostface, I got ice cream
Russian, Puerto Rican, Black and Blackanese

[Curren$y:]
You don't know how far
That shit easier than writing
You can go, how much
Federal photographers
You can grow, how far
I don't know why the fuck I wanted to say that, shit
You can go, when you fucking with the blow

From a seven hundred square foot apartment
Never claim to be the king of New Orleans
Though my new castle one of the largest
From helicopters, federal photographers taking pictures
My driveway full of Impalas and I'm not stopping for one minute
If they really thought they knew something
They would've been came to come get me
Not saying that they would've got me, though
You copy, bro, I'm out at Mojave
Desert, dune-buggies and Kawasakis
You gotta know to have fun with your money
Young hustler, watch me
Keep hittas around me
'Cause niggas be clowning, can't trust nobody
It might be your partner that drop your body
That shit not shocking
I see it all the time, living in this wild world of crime
Scribbling lines on her mirror
Bitches nose dive, who am I

You don't know how far
You can go, how much you can grow, how far
You can go, when you fucking with the blow

You mean to tell me you guys have never snorted coke?
Well, I always wanted to try, you know
But you want to, right? Why not?
It's great stuff, Alvy
A friend of mine just brought it over from California

done

Did you add all the unfamiliar words from this song?