"Rib-Eye" lyrics
Stay Flee Get Lizzy & DoRoad Lyrics
Slap that Rottie on the back of a big bike
I know your mum heard this, now she can't sit right
My younger got a mash for a quid five
Guaranteed, ain't plannin' on fist fight
You ever beat corn and them man in a jug boy?
And he's cooked like rib-eye
I got his girl tellin' me that I did it
I'm screamin' out, "How did I? How?"
Slap that Rottie on the back of a big bike
I know your mum heard this, now she can't sit right
My younger got a mash for a quid five
Guaranteed, ain't plannin' on fist fight
You ever beat corn and them man in a jug boy?
And he's cooked like rib-eye
I got his girl tellin' me that I did it
I'm screamin' out, "How did I? How did I?"
Slap that Mac on the back of a jigs
So we do it like gob 'round here
My youngin' on the drill, and he miss no stories
He don't do subs 'round here in the drake
But to cool it, to make it real hot 'round here, but it ain't land
So I tell my younger mean, "Rock with the dots 'round there"
Anywhere that he tear
I'ma tell you that you own that block 'round there
Bro had six in the fours
And I had a M10 on cut, tryna fling him in the air
Tryna ying my man, tell broski, "Bring him over here"
Clip clips and chambers fillin' over here
They say if you don't air, then the nigga must fill
Pissed when corn lick his hair
You might catch me one day on a outin'
Just know I ain't runnin'
My finger itchin', I rub it
I try beat two corn on the boy over there
But I was pissed, it never pierced his stomach
I was a lil' old nigga with a Rottie in a rucksack, causin' up ruckus
The shit that I did, you couldn't stomach
017, it's stress weren't fair
'Cause I came out of jail, and I started puttin' pressure, dead
Two plats on the backroad, press that brev
We done it in a Skoda, we done it off a Honda
We done it with a short one, we done it with a long one
Yeah, tell out your own stuff, but you ain't on none
Tell my young boy when you see them, just
Slap that Rottie on the back of a big bike
I know your mum heard this, now she can't sit right
My younger got a mash for a quid five
Guaranteed, ain't plannin' on fist fight
You ever beat corn and them man in a jug boy?
And he's cooked like rib-eye
I got his girl tellin' me that I did it
I'm screamin' out, "How did I? How did I?"
We ain't doin' no civilian bootin's
Marksman shootin' if I see him, I'm tootin'
I can't did it in there tootin'
My nigga got a brand new Star knife from a Russian man, Putin
No, we ain't gonna rush, man, I'll shoot him
'Cause I dropkick man with the dots, 'cause it lock
When it happens, who you think they're accusin'?
She got a man like you, or a man with guap and guns
Who you think she's choosin'?
Come on, now, let's not be stupid
She on my nuts when I pull up on a new whip
Meat that, jeet that, put it in the Ubers
But when it's got a glance when at was scrunched off the Macs
And it could've been a Susan, it could've been an Uzi
Uh, uh, they're so delusional
But when I rest these T at the sports
It's gonna be a funeral
I got fox at my block 'cause I abuse it all
I ain't got corn for some, I'm tryna use it all
I remember me and 'Gody, we was out of town
I'm pluggin' in, and move cubical
'Member gettin' bagged, and they never got the pack
And we still went through it all
I remember when the opper try grab me
Wet her in the pouch, had to cut up my pinnacle
I was seventeen when I thought that I seen it all
'Cause I had the Mac and the splash in my dad's whip
And it was a year that I started doin' some mad tings
I ran up, and gave man a ad-lib
Slap that Rottie on the back of a big bike
I know your mum heard this, now she can't sit right
My younger got a mash for a quid five
Guaranteed, ain't plannin' on fist fight
You ever beat corn and them man in a jug boy?
And he's cooked like rib-eye
I got his girl tellin' me that I did it
I'm screamin' out, "How did I? How did I?"
I know your mum heard this, now she can't sit right
My younger got a mash for a quid five
Guaranteed, ain't plannin' on fist fight
You ever beat corn and them man in a jug boy?
And he's cooked like rib-eye
I got his girl tellin' me that I did it
I'm screamin' out, "How did I? How?"
Slap that Rottie on the back of a big bike
I know your mum heard this, now she can't sit right
My younger got a mash for a quid five
Guaranteed, ain't plannin' on fist fight
You ever beat corn and them man in a jug boy?
And he's cooked like rib-eye
I got his girl tellin' me that I did it
I'm screamin' out, "How did I? How did I?"
Slap that Mac on the back of a jigs
So we do it like gob 'round here
My youngin' on the drill, and he miss no stories
He don't do subs 'round here in the drake
But to cool it, to make it real hot 'round here, but it ain't land
So I tell my younger mean, "Rock with the dots 'round there"
Anywhere that he tear
I'ma tell you that you own that block 'round there
Bro had six in the fours
And I had a M10 on cut, tryna fling him in the air
Tryna ying my man, tell broski, "Bring him over here"
Clip clips and chambers fillin' over here
They say if you don't air, then the nigga must fill
Pissed when corn lick his hair
You might catch me one day on a outin'
Just know I ain't runnin'
My finger itchin', I rub it
I try beat two corn on the boy over there
But I was pissed, it never pierced his stomach
I was a lil' old nigga with a Rottie in a rucksack, causin' up ruckus
The shit that I did, you couldn't stomach
017, it's stress weren't fair
'Cause I came out of jail, and I started puttin' pressure, dead
Two plats on the backroad, press that brev
We done it in a Skoda, we done it off a Honda
We done it with a short one, we done it with a long one
Yeah, tell out your own stuff, but you ain't on none
Tell my young boy when you see them, just
Slap that Rottie on the back of a big bike
I know your mum heard this, now she can't sit right
My younger got a mash for a quid five
Guaranteed, ain't plannin' on fist fight
You ever beat corn and them man in a jug boy?
And he's cooked like rib-eye
I got his girl tellin' me that I did it
I'm screamin' out, "How did I? How did I?"
We ain't doin' no civilian bootin's
Marksman shootin' if I see him, I'm tootin'
I can't did it in there tootin'
My nigga got a brand new Star knife from a Russian man, Putin
No, we ain't gonna rush, man, I'll shoot him
'Cause I dropkick man with the dots, 'cause it lock
When it happens, who you think they're accusin'?
She got a man like you, or a man with guap and guns
Who you think she's choosin'?
Come on, now, let's not be stupid
She on my nuts when I pull up on a new whip
Meat that, jeet that, put it in the Ubers
But when it's got a glance when at was scrunched off the Macs
And it could've been a Susan, it could've been an Uzi
Uh, uh, they're so delusional
But when I rest these T at the sports
It's gonna be a funeral
I got fox at my block 'cause I abuse it all
I ain't got corn for some, I'm tryna use it all
I remember me and 'Gody, we was out of town
I'm pluggin' in, and move cubical
'Member gettin' bagged, and they never got the pack
And we still went through it all
I remember when the opper try grab me
Wet her in the pouch, had to cut up my pinnacle
I was seventeen when I thought that I seen it all
'Cause I had the Mac and the splash in my dad's whip
And it was a year that I started doin' some mad tings
I ran up, and gave man a ad-lib
Slap that Rottie on the back of a big bike
I know your mum heard this, now she can't sit right
My younger got a mash for a quid five
Guaranteed, ain't plannin' on fist fight
You ever beat corn and them man in a jug boy?
And he's cooked like rib-eye
I got his girl tellin' me that I did it
I'm screamin' out, "How did I? How did I?"
