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babytron - coney island lyrics

[intro: babytron & los]
ayy
sh+ttyboyz, dog sh+t militia
long live $cams
daisy lane records sh+t, n+gga
you know?
yeah
if it ain’t no—
p+ssy+ass n+ggas, ain’t got no love for ’em

[verse 1: babytron & los]
if it ain’t no drank in my cupholder, i’ma get some road rage
wu+tang, i’m the method man, my k!ller ghostface (uh+huh)
tryna say my vows to the pape’, i think we soulmates (uh+huh)
if they order beef, bet we deliver it like postmates (yeah)
out in china, fl!ckin’ people off with my pinky ring
come and get the cuffs up off your b+tch, she into kinky things (f+ck that b+tch)
ayy, tell a b+tch to leave me be
why you rollin’ reggie? might as well’ve grabbed some cbd

[verse 2: wb nutty]
i been tryna keep it all rap, but i’m for the streets
babytron, tell your white friends come and shop with me
i been payin’ fourteen, but gettin’ twenty+eight apiece
make a song about some sales, n+ggas better mention me
know how i play it, i go get it, i don’t wait around (at all)
i’m sendin’ ‘bows to her crib, playin’ “pound town”
airport, no luggage, pick up fifty thou’
bag gone ‘fore it touch, ain’t no sittin’ ’round, n+gga
get your rank up, get your rank up, get your rank up, get your rank up
get your rank up, get your rank up, get your rank up, get your rank up
[verse 3: los & bandgang javar]
yeah, ayy
n+gga, get your rank up, switch states, then change up
i got married to that bag, no, we can’t break up
they say two hundred thou’ cash, i say, “that sh+t ain’t enough”
you would think i signed to bando ’cause i got dog sh+t straight from the lab
i let my mans use my plug and ain’t ask for no money back
n+ggas braggin’ ’bout a dime, the type of sh+t that make me laugh
tell a b+tch i’m pressed for time, tryna cut a brick in half
i’m talkin’ thousand times two+fifty, n+ggas stuck on instagram
you would think i signed to bando ’cause i got dog sh+t straight from the lab (straight from the lab, p+ssy ass, uh+huh)
no cap
(signed to bando ’cause i got dog sh+t straight from the lab)
bandgang
yeah
p+ssy+ass n+ggas, ain’t got no love for ’em, yeah

[verse 4: bandgang javar]
i come from a long line of real n+ggas
pops had a long line of fiends, he was drug dealin’
it’s only right i copped the foreign off dealin’
old heads peekin’ out they blinds like, “paris’ son trippin'”
free my n+gga poody, feds gave him ten for sellin’ ++++
but he up two million cash, if i was him, i wouldn’t stress
seen unc’ with so many babies, i should call cps
if you need one, i’ll throw my tax on it, shoot a text
i treat my b+tch so good, god blessed me with another one
they know they ain’t gotta pay no bills if i cum in ’em
you know them ‘bows your favorite uncle sell? i be frontin ’em
and he a ham, pay fifty+five for every one of ’em
[verse 5: ak bandamont]
these ’bout twenty glocks, got twenty fifty+round drums for every one of them
i got a hundred thots, i’ll call a b+tch when i need her, i’m puttin’ drugs in them
they caught him at the club, they sent a bunch at him, now it’s gettin’ ugly
b+tch, i’m with a lot of apes like jungle gyms, we all gettin’ money (skrrt)
and b+tch, i slap onions, no hat, the drac’ crack m+ffin
every month, i bet i crack a hundred, b+tch, i’m pac without the tatted stomach
i forgot his name, they whacked buddy, dope cases came from crack money
like deezy, i get fast money, one call, i got a bag comin’
this one n+gga got a bag on him, he dead, they on your ass, youngin
i know you heard about your last cousin, he trap, we get him whacked hustlin’
this b+tch just want her back busted, she call and she don’t ask nothin’
a dog before, i had nothin’, do fraud and got a trap jumpin’

[verse 6: glockboyz teejaee]
back to the hood, we pull up tinted+out, they know it’s me
them extras hangin’ out the clip, b+tch, i’m like thirty deep
ain’t tryna beef over the ‘net, just meet me in the streets
i’ll up the glock and bang this b+tch just like a jose beat and throw my piece
yeah, two phones, they both ringin’, this that money callin’
my dog playin’ every game, his nickname spalding
you out here losin’ every day, you need to change your partners
this b+tch cute and she’ll shoot, she like candace parker
n+gga, i still be in the trenches, i got bros who think i made it (they think i made it)
really active, i still’ll slide like i ain’t famous (like i ain’t famous)
speak on me, my dog gon’ pull up, tap your head, i ain’t gotta pay him (ain’t gotta pay him nothin’)
come watch me play, i hoop like kobe, i’m the greatest, n+gga
[verse 7: krispylife kidd]
you a b+tch, i’m judgin’ by your rollie size (36)
pop, pop to your brain, yeah, it’s coney time
flint n+gga, stuffin’ hoes with packs stromboli+sized
i’m rich, any n+gga on this song could call to hold a dime (i got you)
gucci windbreaker, this b+tch’ll keep me warm as h+ll
‘specially when i’m trappin’ fifty sale after fifty sale
i gotta pause and get some fresh air, i can’t do the smell
you a ho, they pull you out the car, you tell before you hit the jail (rat)
huh, skydweller got my wrist chunky
the bezel got baguettes in it, that’s why you see my wrist bumpy (bling)
i’m in the club with an attitude with a bottle tryna fifth somethin’
i’m really fake drunk, i’m just on tip, i ain’t sip nothin’

[verse 8: nuk]
five hundred in this cup, n+gga, you can’t get a sip of sh+t
brodie wanna rob him, told him, “clean that boy like mister pip”
off dog food, made dallas money, d+mn near think i’m dennis smith
this sh+t rappers’ coney island, tell my robbers get his kit
i see n+ggas sweet as h+ll, i call my wolves, they partaking
all my boy sales, i got more bags in than marc jacobs
bro a soul taker, he the one that’s gon’ go chase the dead
i just got another brick like “pound town,” no s+xyy red
the feds hit the crib for a second time, ain’t found nothin’
when i want a brick, i call a plug and press the pound b+tton
like, order here, them b+tches comin’ off the pier
last n+gga i knew with the bricks, they gave him forty years

[outro: babytron]
pull up to the spot, we servin’ everything like coney island
i just poured a trey, it made me go to sleep, i’m obie trice+ing
brodie sn+tched an opp watch, he gotta get his rollie tightened
mental of a mamba, i ain’t snake, i think like kobe bryant

- babytron lyrics

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