![]() See i’m the author of cookie cappin’ and chargin’ ya Helicopters transferrin’ ya to the docter-a Twin chopp-e-rs, poppin’ ya, stand on top of ya, Go ask an oracle, better yet read an articleįeds use binoculars, gucci sellin’ tilapia Gucci mane’s a trapper but that question’s rhetorical I blowed up, i’m blowin’ up them particles Green kush, white cane, pill color of cardinal You hustlin’ lazily, so your wages marginal Pot scrr scrapin’ it, cookie cutters and bakeries Like james worthy i dropped 40 points last thursdayīut i’m wilt chamberlain, charm dancin’ and danglin’ ![]() The bird chirpin’, it’s curb service, my pass perfect ![]() On old national, traffickin’, call it networkin’ It’s on person, i’m one person, but i’m twerkin’ ![]() That sense of making crafted raps appear effortless. Note: When you embed the widget in your site, it will match your site's styles (CSS).One last thing that strikes me as notable about Gucci’s output, & tends to be an underrated part of the aesthetic judgments of rap fans in gen., is the sense of craft, & thats something refreshing that dude brings to the table in an era of loosely connected punchlines hammered home (“SOCCER TEAM!”) w/out any style. Get the embed code Gucci Mane - Diary Of A Trap God (Mixtape) Album Lyrics1.All These Back5.Nights Like This6.Nuthin On 10.She a Mane Lyrics provided by Real street niggas, go fuck up the whole profitĢ0 bands worth of guns sitting in one closet I would rather go bad, half a pound, get on my click and blow itĮverything over here 100, that's why they can't stop me I ain't got time for it, ain't no need me lying to her Them bitches say he cool, but he's a dirty motherfucker Too in love with the streets, I never had a hoe problem On my knees saying my prayers with my fucking chopper Thousand rounds at your ass, your whole hood dyingĪll I want for Christmas is a motherfucking chopper When you playing with them rockets gotta keep it silent Where them young niggas at, I tie my shoe, no choppersĪ green light your nine, next notch off your pocket You don't cash out, hit you for playing games We shoot head shots, bullets bust your brainĬheck your mailbox, I sent you four things Scooter and Waka Flocka, OG and Gucci Mane Million dollars' worth of licks, I hit his own sixīricksquad niggas known for taking niggas shit Got hundred round drums, they shoot down bricks Told a goon so I'm a leave us, set it off like Queen Latifah Thousand t-shirt, I bring my blumer, 'cause I ain't got no trust in peopleĬool ass Gucci got me all around these important people Now call your dough, it's nice to meet you, squeeze, whipper, it's nice to bleach you I'm about some reefer smoking, say it to your reaper hoe The O has a key, they don't need no reason for it Got a couple Os but half of them ain't breathing, though Kid, your granddaddy fought, nigga, any grandsonįallen nigga full of holes, throw his ass a tamponĬatch the tuly with the cooly, at the tech with the breather holes Go and chop them bands off, they gonna sing a sad song I heard your man done passed on, he didn't last long Leaving big holes, leave you like donuts, icing on your bitch face like donutsĬhopper Lee chopped up like cold cuts, young mob, Bricksquad, bitch, get your choppers Just cruising through the streets, me and Road Runner ran around with them choppers, broad day, we sparking, we strapped up, desperado Yeah, we with your block, block, block, block, block, yeah With them choppers, choppers, choppers, choppers, choppers My young niggas, they wretched, bout to snatch a plug, the kidnapping Shot fired, man down, 100 drone, boy, what you doing
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