"WIndmills" lyrics
STORY & DUSTY LOCANE Lyrics
200 the dash
The way that I'm takin' off
Everything green, it's a go
Then you know how we playin' ball
I got a bag to get
Issa duffle, it's hunnids on hunnids
They know how we comin'
Step wit the steppas
I run wit the runners
She said, "How high do I want it?"
And she jumpin'
Shorty want Fendi
I put her in Louis
I told her she Gucci
Wit all of these hunnids
She wanna go to the pit
So she hop in bed
And I beat it like my name was Mustard
Money and Gawd only thing I'm trustin'
My shooter like Vladimir
Way he rushin'
Heard he a steppa
Put that boy on crutches
Still swingin' arms
Like I'm double dutchin'
These niggas dead for real
Long as I'm eating, I'm good
And my son is fed
I won't see the feds for real
They know we got it on lock
And if they want the smoke
Then we turn 'em dread for real
Baddies on baddies
They climbin' on me like a mountain
Like they want me dead for real
She know I'm a big deal
Never fakin'
She know that I been real
Heard these niggas is plottin'
They movin' like crash dummies
Send 'em through the windshield
All this ice on my neck
When I step through the spot
These gettin' wind chills
All these diamonds dancin' in this Cartier
Bussin' on me
Bitches doin' windmills
Free my niggas out the system
I ain't in a good state of mind
Nigga run up on me
He a victim
Everybody wit 'em get it
Got a thirty in it
I can't leave a witness
Shorty steppin' red bottoms
Walkin' with the devil
Actin' like she Christian
I done came a long way from the bottom
Shooter wit me
Get 'em lifted
Tsss
I got a bag for real
Stay wit some shit in my pocket
I know that they smell it
It's easy to brag for real
Told 'em I like it, I cop it
I want it, I get it
Ain't seein' a tag for real
Way that I run up the digits
When I'm in the field
It's easy to draft for real
Fah
He say he got money
But he ain't the man for real
Ran up an M when I first got into it
But niggas know I'll still blam for real
I ain't the same
I'll send lil' shorty
And he'll go coo if I tell him to kill
If I'm the V
I'm driftin' the wheel
Story'll tell you
We deep in the field
Look
I like my bitches how I like my liquor
Fuck the chase
I throw the alley-oop like CP on the Clippers
Deady off the mud
I pour a four
You know that I'm a sipper
Make sure you check homie at the door
'Cause we don't do no slip-ups
Ain't no apologies
I got tha hammer tucked
Rather be a lion standing tall
Than to be a cluck
Gang know better
We go down for treason
And we keep it hush
Louis sweater
But if homie play
Then he turn to cluck
That's a duck
Fah, fah
The way that I'm takin' off
Everything green, it's a go
Then you know how we playin' ball
I got a bag to get
Issa duffle, it's hunnids on hunnids
They know how we comin'
Step wit the steppas
I run wit the runners
She said, "How high do I want it?"
And she jumpin'
Shorty want Fendi
I put her in Louis
I told her she Gucci
Wit all of these hunnids
She wanna go to the pit
So she hop in bed
And I beat it like my name was Mustard
Money and Gawd only thing I'm trustin'
My shooter like Vladimir
Way he rushin'
Heard he a steppa
Put that boy on crutches
Still swingin' arms
Like I'm double dutchin'
These niggas dead for real
Long as I'm eating, I'm good
And my son is fed
I won't see the feds for real
They know we got it on lock
And if they want the smoke
Then we turn 'em dread for real
Baddies on baddies
They climbin' on me like a mountain
Like they want me dead for real
She know I'm a big deal
Never fakin'
She know that I been real
Heard these niggas is plottin'
They movin' like crash dummies
Send 'em through the windshield
All this ice on my neck
When I step through the spot
These gettin' wind chills
All these diamonds dancin' in this Cartier
Bussin' on me
Bitches doin' windmills
Free my niggas out the system
I ain't in a good state of mind
Nigga run up on me
He a victim
Everybody wit 'em get it
Got a thirty in it
I can't leave a witness
Shorty steppin' red bottoms
Walkin' with the devil
Actin' like she Christian
I done came a long way from the bottom
Shooter wit me
Get 'em lifted
Tsss
I got a bag for real
Stay wit some shit in my pocket
I know that they smell it
It's easy to brag for real
Told 'em I like it, I cop it
I want it, I get it
Ain't seein' a tag for real
Way that I run up the digits
When I'm in the field
It's easy to draft for real
Fah
He say he got money
But he ain't the man for real
Ran up an M when I first got into it
But niggas know I'll still blam for real
I ain't the same
I'll send lil' shorty
And he'll go coo if I tell him to kill
If I'm the V
I'm driftin' the wheel
Story'll tell you
We deep in the field
Look
I like my bitches how I like my liquor
Fuck the chase
I throw the alley-oop like CP on the Clippers
Deady off the mud
I pour a four
You know that I'm a sipper
Make sure you check homie at the door
'Cause we don't do no slip-ups
Ain't no apologies
I got tha hammer tucked
Rather be a lion standing tall
Than to be a cluck
Gang know better
We go down for treason
And we keep it hush
Louis sweater
But if homie play
Then he turn to cluck
That's a duck
Fah, fah
