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It's Up
21 Savage, Young Thug, Drake
I love all my friends Thinkin' about this life I provide for them This world has some real things dividin' 'em My right hand, he's Muslim, I'll die for him My road manager is drunk as hell at 5 p.m. I get knocked down, they help me rise again Ref won't leave the game, I'm sayin' "Bye" with him Drake, turn this shit the fuck up I don't care 'bout my opps (I don't care 'bout my opps) I don't care 'bout my opps (I don't care 'bout no opps) I don't care 'bout my opps (I don't care 'bout no opp) Yeah, take a pic, (take a pic) Richard Millie, no stop watch (uh-uh) Take a pic, with your lips gobblin' on my cock (let's go, uh-uh, shit) I don't care 'bout no motherfuckin' watch (I don't care 'bout no watch, nah) I don't care 'bout no highend thot (nah, nah) Bitch, you just a (bitch, you just a) bystander Christian Dior your pajama, Gucci vendor, got his number I just picked up somethin' from Mercedes, it's a one of one Black exterior, the one that I want Red inside like that time of the month Blood money, that's how I got this Blood money, that's how I got this We can vacation wherever we want 'Cause I don't care where none of my opps is I told the promoter tonight, put me across from they section We don't play patty cake, they just be lettin' us in, we don't do the inspection I can't sleep at night with Thug at Cobb County Corrections I think he did enough reflectin', I think my brother learned his lesson It's all just a part of the game, we all gotta roll with protection And just like the motherfuckin' judge, the hammers come out for objections Nigga, what's up? A hundred-and-forty-three Rolexes in my collection I put the horns on the front of the back, you know Drizzy gon' roll like a Texan She textin' she love me, the Mexicans love me I'm out here just makin' connections And Junior Boy rollin' like Cinco de Mayo, he may've had a fifth of possession The way that I'm used to playin' the politics, swear I could win the election You niggas is overprotective with hoes, I'm already over the next one I'm at 48 with Ty and Vino, we drunk, it's not even a question These niggas tryna send a message, well, leave that shit down in the reception, ayy I don't care 'bout my opps (I don't care 'bout my opps) I don't care 'bout my opps (I don't care 'bout no opps) I don't care 'bout my opps (I don't care 'bout no opp) Yeah, take a pic, (take a pic) Richard Millie, no stop watch (uh-uh) Take a pic, with your lips gobblin' on my cock (let's go, uh-uh, shit) I don't care 'bout no motherfuckin' watch (I don't care 'bout no watch, nah) I don't care 'bout no highend thot (nah, nah) Bitch, you just a (bitch, you just a) bystander Christian Dior your pajama, Gucci vendor, got his number I just picked up somethin' from Mercedes, it's a one of one Black exterior, the one that I want Red inside like that time of the month Blood money, that's how I got this Blood money, that's how I got this We can vacation wherever we want 'Cause I don't care where none of my opps is You hang around too many niggas, that's pussy You gotta be pussy If it's on sight, up your gun on me All that muggin' and lookin' Yeah, niggas doin' all that woofin', pussy 4L bomb shit Walk inside the store, that switch in my armpit I go wherever, I keep a Beretta, and niggas ain't on shit My opps together, but I don't discriminate, I got 'em both hit Them niggas be lyin', they niggas be dyin' and they'll never post shit No rap cap come out my mouth Made a couple songs, think he hot now Hit his ass up, he think he Pac now Broad daylight he got shot down Chopper bullets make his ass hop 'round Bloodshed, ain't no way to stop now Go on live and get your ass pop now Seem like everybody want an opp now Leavin' him flatline Slaughter Gang knife in the back, I'm on that time Turn him to a hashtag Make him a "Long Live", niggas ain't my kind Tried and true, I'ma pop mine I was seventeen with a Glock .9 I wanna see red, stop sign I wanna see red, Clifford She keep tryna whip out my zipper I move to L.A., I'm a Clipper He think with his dick, he a tricker Get your bitch out the car 'fore we blick her We put an AirTag on his car, he in Miami by Brickell Say "Hello" to the four nickel I got a magazine, you got an issue Givin' out smoke, pussy My trigger finger broke Don't try me like no hoe I always let it blow I pull up five score, nigga We caught him by that store How much you wanna bet they ass won't stand right there no more? I'm Slaughter Gang OVO A half a million a show But I still walk in with that pole Idiot Ayy, I'm feelin' like 2 Chainz (tru) Bitch, I'm 21, bitch, I'm not 22 Knockin' off the namebrand niggas in your crew Heard you miss your dogs, now it's long live who? Idiot Yeah
Written by: D. Ferguson, Elias Sticken, Derrick Hill, Sheyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph, Gyz Akyuz, Jeffrey Williams, Aubrey Graham, Tom Levesque, James Cyr, Benjamin MacGregor Wilson
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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