Blues

[Chorus]
I got blues like it’s jazz, pull up in a jag
Park the car, count the cash, then I hit the gas
Run it up do the math, all I do is add
I’m in traffic servin’ bags, task on my ass
Aye, I know the red and blues want me bad
Soon as I heard that whoop, do the dash
And all my niggas shoot we don’t pass
I got blues like it’s jazz (aye)

[Verse 1]
Hit you up hit you up, let em’ pick you up
We in traffic with the food, we be serving lunch
Dinner time we be eating, ain’t nobody leeching
If we beefing mask on, ain’t no trick or treating
Just a lot of trigger squeezing, lot of people fleeing
It’s a lot of funerals, graves digging deeper
It don’t even be a reason, everybody savage
Til you in them shackles, now you a fuckin’ pastor
Say you got them hundreds but is it them blue ones
Say you got some guns but is you gone use em’
I don’t believe you when I see you, you won’t do nothin’
I ain’t playing we gone shoot em (uh)

[Hook]
I got blues like it’s jazz, pull up in a jag
Park the car, count the cash, then I hit the gas
Run it up do the math, all I do is add
I’m in traffic servin’ bags, task on my ass
Aye, I know the red and blues want me bad
Soon as I heard that whoop, do the dash
And all my niggas shoot we don’t pass
I got blues like it’s jazz (aye)

[Verse 2]
I got blues like it’s jazz, but I don’t play the sax
I just play with racks, my niggas pourin’ act
I be off the henny sittin back countin benjis
Count it fast like a hemi young niggas shootin semis
Automatic yeah I got it I can count it backwards
I been shootin bricks like I hit the backboard
I’m behind tint trying to duck the task force
I got these hoes trippin’ they gone need a passport
I got blues but I’m sippin’ on that brown shit
All that bull shit, I don’t be around it
I got full clips yea that hunit round shit
I’m on some cool shit flyer than a round trip
I want Benjamin’s
Can’t wait til I don’t have to do this shit again
Im uh split it with my niggas we gone really win
Im uh send it to my niggas sittin in the pen

[Hook]
I got blues like it’s jazz, pull up in a jag
Park the car, count the cash, then I hit the gas
Run it up do the math, all I do is add
I’m in traffic servin’ bags, task on my ass
Aye, I know the red and blues want me bad
Soon as I heard that whoop, do the dash
And all my niggas shoot we don’t pass
I got blues like it’s jazz (aye)