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Godly (feat. 4ior) Video (MV)




Performed By: CRi
Language: English
Length: 3:04
Written by: Cristian Cabbil




CRi - Godly (feat. 4ior) Lyrics




Took a sip up out this cup, now I'm talkin' Sleepy My niggas never f*ckin' miss, I got
Em walkin' with me I'm really chillin' with yo Bitch, she gettin
Sloppy with me I'm steady thinkin' bout this Bread, I'm like
I gotta get it The teller know me at the bank, I'm finna

Pay a visit The bullet grazed the nigga head And took his
Fake extensions Get creative on her face, Forever painting
Shit You show that chain around your neck, I Bet
We takin' shit You know these bitches out in Public steady

Takin' pics Bookin' trips to Bora Bora, shit, we Takin
Trips Niggas steady missin' shots, forever layin
Bricks I been chillin' on my grind, I'm on some
Skater shit Finna roll me up a wood, I'm steady Facin

Shit I pour some purple in my yellow on some Lakers
Shit That nigga say he gettin' bread, I bet we
Bakin' shit I'm really gettin' to a bag, tryna Chase a M I'm really gettin' to a bag, tryna find A bank

I passed Dior the cup and told this nigga try Some drink
We livin' different lives, I'm doin' shit you Probably can't
Up the top and make him slide, I got a Godly Drake
Get the bitch up in the room, she got a Godly Shape

Steady rollin' with the shooters with some Godly aim
Drop two niggas and I'm done, lil' bitch, I gotta Shake
I'm on a mission to the riches, bitch, I'm outta State
I'm gettin' high off this lil' shit, lil' bitch, I'm Outer space

You ain't gettin' to no money, bitch, you outta Place
In the track, he switchin' lanes, bitch, I gotta Race
The bitch was lookin' pretty good, so I got a Taste
I turned the K into a Drake, cause I took off The brakes

I know you think you f*ckin' with me, bruh, but That is not the case
And I been on that rim so much, I feel like Dr. J
Plain Jane, mad as hell that I just bust her face
He wanna smoke with me, I wonder why he Wanna rush his fate

Put some bristles on the FNN and let her brush his fade
You see it pokin' through the shirt, that's why He tucked your chain
And Cris right behind me with some shit that'll Crush your brain
That'll crack your head

Oh, he stingy with the bag, that is not your man's
Gettin' chips, cheese, and chicken, I'm the nacho man
Shoot a Glock so many times, think I got double hands
I'm runnin' out of rubber bands

Okay, I'm finna do my money dance
Cris, why you keep on tryin' to count it
I just said we out of rubber bands
Tryin' to f*ck with me is not gon' work, you need some other plans

Put a scope on top, I bet I hit, I shot from Yucatan
I can't fit all this in my pockets, but I used to can
My bitch a bowl of Lucky Charms, you other hoes Raisin Bran
With no milk inside

She tried to put the cat on me, but I took all the lives
Yeah, I know the scat on E it's probably cause I like to drive
And I got the strap on me, it's on my hip, I ain't tryin' to die
Bae, I did not f*ck that bitch, I'm not tryin' to lie

But I was kinda high, so if I did, then I apologize
I'm in my bag so much, got niggas mad, I'm eatin' all the fries
And for my day ones, when I touch a bag, I'm icin' all the guys
And run up another one, cause it ain't joggin' time

Only hit the bitch for twenty minutes, she not walkin' right
Oh, I see you got a big clip, but what's the bullet size
And the barrel hit you in yo' shit, cause you ain't pull it right
Like, put yo' chest in it, like, put yo' back in it

Still shittin' on these niggas daily is my plaque sendin?
I need more space in my garage, big body 'Lac in it
I want the track in my garage, but let my dad get it first
Pull the trigger once, three bullets comin' out, cause it's a burst

Don't need to put him on a charge, it was a scat, now it's a hearse
Doin' this shit for my mom to put some racks inside her purse
Tryin' to get it, they keep tellin' me relax, but that shit hurt
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

We currently do not have these lyrics. If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.


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English

Took a sip up out this cup, now I'm talkin' Sleepy My niggas never f*ckin' miss, I got
Em walkin' with me I'm really chillin' with yo Bitch, she gettin
Sloppy with me I'm steady thinkin' bout this Bread, I'm like
I gotta get it The teller know me at the bank, I'm finna

Pay a visit The bullet grazed the nigga head And took his
Fake extensions Get creative on her face, Forever painting
Shit You show that chain around your neck, I Bet
We takin' shit You know these bitches out in Public steady

Takin' pics Bookin' trips to Bora Bora, shit, we Takin
Trips Niggas steady missin' shots, forever layin
Bricks I been chillin' on my grind, I'm on some
Skater shit Finna roll me up a wood, I'm steady Facin

Shit I pour some purple in my yellow on some Lakers
Shit That nigga say he gettin' bread, I bet we
Bakin' shit I'm really gettin' to a bag, tryna Chase a M I'm really gettin' to a bag, tryna find A bank

I passed Dior the cup and told this nigga try Some drink
We livin' different lives, I'm doin' shit you Probably can't
Up the top and make him slide, I got a Godly Drake
Get the bitch up in the room, she got a Godly Shape

Steady rollin' with the shooters with some Godly aim
Drop two niggas and I'm done, lil' bitch, I gotta Shake
I'm on a mission to the riches, bitch, I'm outta State
I'm gettin' high off this lil' shit, lil' bitch, I'm Outer space

You ain't gettin' to no money, bitch, you outta Place
In the track, he switchin' lanes, bitch, I gotta Race
The bitch was lookin' pretty good, so I got a Taste
I turned the K into a Drake, cause I took off The brakes

I know you think you f*ckin' with me, bruh, but That is not the case
And I been on that rim so much, I feel like Dr. J
Plain Jane, mad as hell that I just bust her face
He wanna smoke with me, I wonder why he Wanna rush his fate

Put some bristles on the FNN and let her brush his fade
You see it pokin' through the shirt, that's why He tucked your chain
And Cris right behind me with some shit that'll Crush your brain
That'll crack your head

Oh, he stingy with the bag, that is not your man's
Gettin' chips, cheese, and chicken, I'm the nacho man
Shoot a Glock so many times, think I got double hands
I'm runnin' out of rubber bands

Okay, I'm finna do my money dance
Cris, why you keep on tryin' to count it
I just said we out of rubber bands
Tryin' to f*ck with me is not gon' work, you need some other plans

Put a scope on top, I bet I hit, I shot from Yucatan
I can't fit all this in my pockets, but I used to can
My bitch a bowl of Lucky Charms, you other hoes Raisin Bran
With no milk inside

She tried to put the cat on me, but I took all the lives
Yeah, I know the scat on E it's probably cause I like to drive
And I got the strap on me, it's on my hip, I ain't tryin' to die
Bae, I did not f*ck that bitch, I'm not tryin' to lie

But I was kinda high, so if I did, then I apologize
I'm in my bag so much, got niggas mad, I'm eatin' all the fries
And for my day ones, when I touch a bag, I'm icin' all the guys
And run up another one, cause it ain't joggin' time

Only hit the bitch for twenty minutes, she not walkin' right
Oh, I see you got a big clip, but what's the bullet size
And the barrel hit you in yo' shit, cause you ain't pull it right
Like, put yo' chest in it, like, put yo' back in it

Still shittin' on these niggas daily is my plaque sendin?
I need more space in my garage, big body 'Lac in it
I want the track in my garage, but let my dad get it first
Pull the trigger once, three bullets comin' out, cause it's a burst

Don't need to put him on a charge, it was a scat, now it's a hearse
Doin' this shit for my mom to put some racks inside her purse
Tryin' to get it, they keep tellin' me relax, but that shit hurt
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Cristian Cabbil
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

Back to: CRi

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