boldy james & futurewave - the whole hundro lyrics
[intro]
but why all the secrecy on this project?
i’d sure like to see him
ayy
two way, deuce, siete
jack guy
where we at?
[verse 1]
can’t swindle a swindler
used to cut the ‘caina with vinegar
now i keep my traffic to a minimum
brand new millennium
too many kansas city chiefs and not enough indians
countin’ up them benjamin bannekers with them diamond cut tendencies
linin’ up them big spenders
five hundred or better got me rackin’ up them strict tenders
taxin’ for them fish dinners, collectin’ the front end
watchin’ out for snitches who be havin’ fed run+ins
got them peoples all in my business, tryna b+tt in
don’t end up the b+tt of my jokes on the b+tt end
it’s different strokes, different folks on that dead end
but when them street lights come on, it’s time to head in
last one to take it in was tryna stay out
all night servin’, lil’ n+gga, what your day ’bout?
walt disney on ice, slidin’ with the clique
mickey mouse drum on the chop, ninety in the clip
glit
[chorus]
down in columbo
cookin’ in that same pot your grandma made the gumbo
uh, it’s twelve packs in a bundle
sellin’ twelve twelve skinnies in the trap, me and buzzo
yeah, two hundred racks in the duffel
keep the change in exchange for a bag full of truffles
on gang, chip a n+gga like some ruffles
n+gga go against the grain, i’ma blow the whole hundro
it’s blocks
[verse 2]
lil’ bl++dy, he a drill sergeant
in the hills, tryna oversaturate the pill market
dropped a bullet, leavin’ buddy house in the trailwind
ice+t night, he turn around, that’s a tailspin
eatin’ chickendales off the crab, v12 benz
parked it on the grass in the field, sprewell spins
all white ice, from the glare, it may appear blue
i see a concreature when i’m starin’ in my rear+view
airin’ out my new coupe, pairin’ up the bluetooth
stompin’ foreign pedals in balenciaga moon boots
womb to the tomb, 227, cradle to the grave
grits in a blender, took it to the table with them j’s
servin’ in the rentals, burner in my denim
only built for cuban link cables with the yays
platinum masterpiece, lookin’ like the silver surfer
k!lled the parking lot, last night, i caught a triple murder
the jackson
[chorus]
down in columbo
cookin’ in that same pot your grandma made the gumbo
uh, it’s twelve packs in a bundle
sellin’ twelve twelve skinnies in the trap, me and buzzo
yeah, two hundred racks in the duffel
keep the change in exchange for a bag full of truffles
on gang, chip a n+gga like some ruffles
n+gga go against the grain, i’ma blow the whole hundro
it’s blocks
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