Couldn't drive them so I had to mail them had a dream about a Porsche 911...
Trap hotter then some fish grease
She a rider like A 10 speed
Wanna ride me like a Bentley
Shoot the shit till it's empty
Ain't a Killa don't temp me
100 clip filled with 50
Call the play up hold up something fishy
Public housing nigga drippin in Givinchy
Niggas lose religion for them benjis
Saw my true religions turn into givencys
Tryna get this shit by any means
Fiends begging me like pretty please
I just wanted a Infiniti now a nigga want a Bentley
Judge gave my ace a century
I was little I was wishing on it
Till I saw my uncle put the whip on it
F*ck around your bitch Ull trick on me
I look little but I'm the Big Homie
(Couldn't drive him so I had to mail them)
Round here niggas call me POP
Got Rich off them ziplocs
Serve a nigga like a waiter
Y'all niggas hatin get ya weight up
Coordinater call the play up
F*ck it up wit the paper
Got rich off that whippy whip
Almost died trying like I'm 50 cent
Get the shit and then flip the shit
Spend the profit like I'm richy rich
Nigga said he want a 5 piece
Serve his ass wit the Hoomie on me
So much money made my eyes bleed
Niggas singing like the Isleys
Nigga die tryna try me
To streets niggas this is therapeutic
I ain't really wit the rappin stupid
Cuz said if you pull it
Then you have to shoot it
Boy I'm smoking on that critical (Gas)
Maxed out use to be Minimal
In the trap tryna get a few (Bags)
Push start with the digital (Dash)
Couldn't Drive them so I had to mail em
Had a dream about a Porsche 911
I'm gettin money, I ain't gotta tell you
They can't f*ck with me I'm trying to tell you
Boy I'm smoking on that critical (Gas)
Maxed out use to be Minimal
In the trap tryna get a few (Bags)
Push start with the digital (Dash)
Couldn't Drive them so I had to mail em
Had a dream about a Porsche 911
I'm gettin money, I ain't gotta tell you
They can't f*ck with me I'm trying to tell you
Pop-A-Lot - Bombs from the Bay Lyrics
Pop-A-Lot - Bombs from the Bay Lyrics
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Couldn't drive them so I had to mail them had a dream about a Porsche 911...
Trap hotter then some fish grease
She a rider like A 10 speed
Wanna ride me like a Bentley
Shoot the shit till it's empty
Ain't a Killa don't temp me
100 clip filled with 50
Call the play up hold up something fishy
Public housing nigga drippin in Givinchy
Niggas lose religion for them benjis
Saw my true religions turn into givencys
Tryna get this shit by any means
Fiends begging me like pretty please
I just wanted a Infiniti now a nigga want a Bentley
Judge gave my ace a century
I was little I was wishing on it
Till I saw my uncle put the whip on it
F*ck around your bitch Ull trick on me
I look little but I'm the Big Homie
(Couldn't drive him so I had to mail them)
Round here niggas call me POP
Got Rich off them ziplocs
Serve a nigga like a waiter
Y'all niggas hatin get ya weight up
Coordinater call the play up
F*ck it up wit the paper
Got rich off that whippy whip
Almost died trying like I'm 50 cent
Get the shit and then flip the shit
Spend the profit like I'm richy rich
Nigga said he want a 5 piece
Serve his ass wit the Hoomie on me
So much money made my eyes bleed
Niggas singing like the Isleys
Nigga die tryna try me
To streets niggas this is therapeutic
I ain't really wit the rappin stupid
Cuz said if you pull it
Then you have to shoot it
Boy I'm smoking on that critical (Gas)
Maxed out use to be Minimal
In the trap tryna get a few (Bags)
Push start with the digital (Dash)
Couldn't Drive them so I had to mail em
Had a dream about a Porsche 911
I'm gettin money, I ain't gotta tell you
They can't f*ck with me I'm trying to tell you
Boy I'm smoking on that critical (Gas)
Maxed out use to be Minimal
In the trap tryna get a few (Bags)
Push start with the digital (Dash)
Couldn't Drive them so I had to mail em
Had a dream about a Porsche 911
I'm gettin money, I ain't gotta tell you
They can't f*ck with me I'm trying to tell you
Trap hotter then some fish grease
She a rider like A 10 speed
Wanna ride me like a Bentley
Shoot the shit till it's empty
Ain't a Killa don't temp me
100 clip filled with 50
Call the play up hold up something fishy
Public housing nigga drippin in Givinchy
Niggas lose religion for them benjis
Saw my true religions turn into givencys
Tryna get this shit by any means
Fiends begging me like pretty please
I just wanted a Infiniti now a nigga want a Bentley
Judge gave my ace a century
I was little I was wishing on it
Till I saw my uncle put the whip on it
F*ck around your bitch Ull trick on me
I look little but I'm the Big Homie
(Couldn't drive him so I had to mail them)
Round here niggas call me POP
Got Rich off them ziplocs
Serve a nigga like a waiter
Y'all niggas hatin get ya weight up
Coordinater call the play up
F*ck it up wit the paper
Got rich off that whippy whip
Almost died trying like I'm 50 cent
Get the shit and then flip the shit
Spend the profit like I'm richy rich
Nigga said he want a 5 piece
Serve his ass wit the Hoomie on me
So much money made my eyes bleed
Niggas singing like the Isleys
Nigga die tryna try me
To streets niggas this is therapeutic
I ain't really wit the rappin stupid
Cuz said if you pull it
Then you have to shoot it
Boy I'm smoking on that critical (Gas)
Maxed out use to be Minimal
In the trap tryna get a few (Bags)
Push start with the digital (Dash)
Couldn't Drive them so I had to mail em
Had a dream about a Porsche 911
I'm gettin money, I ain't gotta tell you
They can't f*ck with me I'm trying to tell you
Boy I'm smoking on that critical (Gas)
Maxed out use to be Minimal
In the trap tryna get a few (Bags)
Push start with the digital (Dash)
Couldn't Drive them so I had to mail em
Had a dream about a Porsche 911
I'm gettin money, I ain't gotta tell you
They can't f*ck with me I'm trying to tell you
Writer: Robert Hamilton
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid