Sippin

[Intro: Icewear Vezzo]
Nigga talkin' this lean shit, nigga, you know what’s— (You can't fuck with us, nigga)
Really live this shit, nigga, Drank God
Yeah
Real Ghetto Boyz shit
Drank God (Got this shit on me right now, nigga)
All real, real trap niggas (Rich off pints for real)
We ain't none of these rap niggas (No cap, yeah)
(Iced Up Records)

[Verse 1: Icewear Vezzo]
Got dog shit 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', nigga, rose gold 'Dweller on me brown like a frappé (Woo)
I hit my shells 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, nigga (That doggy)
Dog food, countin' up all blues, stеp back, I prone it
Walk in Hutch and drop 200K just to match my Rollie, yeah
Paid nigga, wеnt and got my chain bigger, I fuck with gang members
I don't fuck with rappers, I’ll crash out, take his shit, these niggas straight bitches, yeah (He pussy)
Long sleeve, that’s that Caddy truck, sit that bitch on eight inches (For real)
Forgios, they look like Oreos, black and white, I'm Raven
Slide to Truth, treat that bitch 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 (Bitch)
An '80s nigga (What?), I’m a real crack baby, bitch, 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 doggin' her out, but she stalkin' and callin' me crazy (Fuck that btch)
Playin' with me, I pay 'em a fee and they walkin' on all of these lames (Get that nigga)
VVs all on my chain
TVs all in the Sprinter, I'm playin' the game (Yeah)
I'ma pourin' up-ass nigga, countin' my cash
I'ma be pitchin' the bag 'til the last inning (Yeah)
Backend boys, damn near doubled up twice, brought a bag with me (You know that)
I don't gossip, nigga, 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 (Bitch)
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 nigga?)
Ayy, Saint Michaels, naw, this ain't Saint Laurent, got ten hoes takin' shots
Niggas sendin' threats, switch move just like a 'Vette, turn the crib to a vacant lot
I hate broke bitches, niggas who front a lot
I hate Tris and I hate the cops (Yeah)
I love codeine, freak bitch 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, nigga (Bitch)
Boy, you're a kid, don't stand next to my gang, your wrist ain't a quarter, nigga (Thirty)
Really a waiter, you know they hittin' my line, I'm fillin' they order, nigga (Bitch)
Money in boxes, startin' to run out of space, I feel like a hoarder, nigga
Fuckin' these hoes, soon as son get to that age, he fuckin' your daughter, nigga (Nigga)
Ran through the load, really, I need me a plug, take me to the border, nigga
Yeah

[Outro: Babyface Ray]
Fuck these niggas