ar fiteen - blues lyrics
[chorus]
i got blues like it’s jazz, pull up in a jag
park the car, count the cash, then i hit the gas
run it up do the math, all i do is add
i’m in traffic servin’ bags, task on my -ss
aye, i know the red and blues want me bad
soon as i heard that whoop, do the dash
and all my n-gg-s shoot we don’t p-ss
i got blues like it’s jazz (aye)
[verse 1]
hit you up hit you up, let em’ pick you up
we in traffic with the food, we be serving lunch
dinner time we be eating, ain’t n-body leeching
if we beefing mask on, ain’t no trick or treating
just a lot of trigger squeezing, lot of people fleeing
it’s a lot of funerals, graves digging deeper
it don’t even be a reason, everybody savage
til you in them shackles, now you a f-ckin’ pastor
say you got them hundreds but is it them blue ones
say you got some guns but is you gone use em’
i don’t believe you when i see you, you won’t do nothin’
i ain’t playing we gone shoot em (uh)
[hook]
i got blues like it’s jazz, pull up in a jag
park the car, count the cash, then i hit the gas
run it up do the math, all i do is add
i’m in traffic servin’ bags, task on my -ss
aye, i know the red and blues want me bad
soon as i heard that whoop, do the dash
and all my n-gg-s shoot we don’t p-ss
i got blues like it’s jazz (aye)
[verse 2]
i got blues like it’s jazz, but i don’t play the sax
i just play with racks, my n-gg-s pourin’ act
i be off the henny sittin back countin benjis
count it fast like a hemi young n-gg-s shootin semis
automatic yeah i got it i can count it backwards
i been shootin bricks like i hit the backboard
i’m behind tint trying to duck the task force
i got these hoes trippin’ they gone need a p-ssport
i got blues but i’m sippin’ on that brown sh-t
all that bull sh-t, i don’t be around it
i got full clips yea that hunit round sh-t
i’m on some cool sh-t flyer than a round trip
i want benjamin’s
can’t wait til i don’t have to do this sh-t again
im uh split it with my n-gg-s we gone really win
im uh send it to my n-gg-s sittin in the pen
[hook]
i got blues like it’s jazz, pull up in a jag
park the car, count the cash, then i hit the gas
run it up do the math, all i do is add
i’m in traffic servin’ bags, task on my -ss
aye, i know the red and blues want me bad
soon as i heard that whoop, do the dash
and all my n-gg-s shoot we don’t p-ss
i got blues like it’s jazz (aye)
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