"5pm In Atlanta" lyrics
Aye, I be in them trap houses with camera's
On the road with them pieces and a police scanner
All these niggas with me they some drug dealers & scammers
Judge tryna give a nigga 5 PM in Atlanta
That's a trafficking charge
Ain't no cars in here nigga, this a trapping garage
Ain't no studio in here but this a rapping garage
Wrapping bricks & pounds, I never trap in the dark
I never trap in a Dodge
Man, them hot ass whips, I need some real ducked off
I got a fool mechanic, he can make the wheels come off
He put the bricks inside the tires he say I still can peel off
He save the burner from the rubber, that shit will throw off
How a dog smell?
Bitches wanna fuck a rapper or a ball player
She really don'y give a fuck cause all pay her
But she love them trap niggas how we all smell
How we all sell
A bunch of fucking turkey bags with the flowers in em
And duck tap duct bricks, with the powder in em
Every rent a car I get, I put a bible in em
Man, Aye, them niggas over there got coward in em
I'm in the ocean with the sharks, nigga deep sea fishing
Real hustler making sure my kids feet be crispy
Real humble nigga, I get my advice from them junkies that be real deal dirty & they teeth be missing
I let them
(Guide me through the storm)
Aye, I said I let them motha fucking niggas
(Guide me through the storm)
Aye, damn it's raining like fuck
Not like how it be outside, like when gang in the club
You see them bitches turn they head, when we came in the club
Aye Put my song on, I make em feel that pain in the club
I'm on a plane with them drugs
I'm selling work to buy pampers
I ain't beefing on wax, I make niggas families light candles
I don't shop at Home Depot, I'm picking up hammers
What you know bout meth head crackers sleeping in campers
What you know bout old dope boys, beepers and shit
And them chirp phones, big rims, speakers and shit
What you know bout going to Cali, ran up with them pounds
Flying Spirit just to make the trip cheaper and shit
Niggas coming to Atlanta just to kick it and shit
Got the traffic going crazy, man I'm sick of this shit
Niggas cooking, niggas frying in them kitchens and shit
Nigga birds get to flying, just like pigeons and shit
I'm selling fish scale, that shit fucking with my nerves
You don't hear them wings flapping nigga listen to them birds
Listen to them preaching ass niggas on the curb
That be reading out them bibles, nigga listen to the word
I let it
(Guide me through the storm)
On the road with them pieces and a police scanner
All these niggas with me they some drug dealers & scammers
Judge tryna give a nigga 5 PM in Atlanta
That's a trafficking charge
Ain't no cars in here nigga, this a trapping garage
Ain't no studio in here but this a rapping garage
Wrapping bricks & pounds, I never trap in the dark
I never trap in a Dodge
Man, them hot ass whips, I need some real ducked off
I got a fool mechanic, he can make the wheels come off
He put the bricks inside the tires he say I still can peel off
He save the burner from the rubber, that shit will throw off
How a dog smell?
Bitches wanna fuck a rapper or a ball player
She really don'y give a fuck cause all pay her
But she love them trap niggas how we all smell
How we all sell
A bunch of fucking turkey bags with the flowers in em
And duck tap duct bricks, with the powder in em
Every rent a car I get, I put a bible in em
Man, Aye, them niggas over there got coward in em
I'm in the ocean with the sharks, nigga deep sea fishing
Real hustler making sure my kids feet be crispy
Real humble nigga, I get my advice from them junkies that be real deal dirty & they teeth be missing
I let them
(Guide me through the storm)
Aye, I said I let them motha fucking niggas
(Guide me through the storm)
Aye, damn it's raining like fuck
Not like how it be outside, like when gang in the club
You see them bitches turn they head, when we came in the club
Aye Put my song on, I make em feel that pain in the club
I'm on a plane with them drugs
I'm selling work to buy pampers
I ain't beefing on wax, I make niggas families light candles
I don't shop at Home Depot, I'm picking up hammers
What you know bout meth head crackers sleeping in campers
What you know bout old dope boys, beepers and shit
And them chirp phones, big rims, speakers and shit
What you know bout going to Cali, ran up with them pounds
Flying Spirit just to make the trip cheaper and shit
Niggas coming to Atlanta just to kick it and shit
Got the traffic going crazy, man I'm sick of this shit
Niggas cooking, niggas frying in them kitchens and shit
Nigga birds get to flying, just like pigeons and shit
I'm selling fish scale, that shit fucking with my nerves
You don't hear them wings flapping nigga listen to them birds
Listen to them preaching ass niggas on the curb
That be reading out them bibles, nigga listen to the word
I let it
(Guide me through the storm)
