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meek mill - chiraq lyrics

[produced by allen ritter, boi-1da & vinylz]

[hook]
you f-ck around get smoked
you f-ck around, you f-ck around, you f-ck around get smoked
n-gga, you f-ck around get smoked

[verse 1: meek mill]
uh, n-ggas know the rules in my hood
if you touch me you get murked
we ain’t with that back and forth, it ain’t no rap, we hittin’ first
g-5, we be at liv by sunday when you in the church
momma stressin’, sellin’ dinner platers
tryna get your casket and get ya he-rs-
last n-gga that slid on us got dropped on it, he told on us
every n-gga you see with me got ice on ’em, bank rolls on us
naw n-gga, no 1 on 1’s, we don’t fight fair, we just roll on ’em
v-s stones and cuban links, all that ice wear with that gold on ’em
we ain’t swingin’ no flag, n-gga
we ain’t need no p-ss, n-gga
glock 40 with a 30 clip and a laser on it, play tag with us
everybody wanna talk bricks
’til them feds swoop in and grab n-ggas
dream chasers got into somethin’
we don’t ever blink ’cause we trash n-ggas
i don’t know if y’all heard ’bout what my homie do with that 30 out
deen buck still in the cut and the state fittin’ to let ernie out
i ain’t even gotta say nothin’
’bout that other homie that you heard about
’cause if he heard about that you run your mouth
he come to your house and start swervin’ out
catch me n-y-c, out shadyville, i’m in the tank
only time it’s manhattan when i’m in the booth or i’m in the bank
summertime in la marina with dominicans goin’ in the paint
pullin’ up, screamin’, “eh, dimelo’?”
catch you in brooklyn, get pita-rolled, p-ssy!

[hook]
you f-ck around get smoked
you f-ck around, you f-ck around, you f-ck around get smoked
n-gga, you f-ck around get smoked
you f-ck around, you f-ck around, you f-ck around get smoked
(yeah! ayy, meek, whattup? bang! oh, man in chiraq)

[verse 2: lil durk]
n-ggas say me and sosa beefin’
but we both eatin’, but only one keepin’
told law he take 15 years
every crime we did we gon keep it secret
can’t tweet teyana, corporate n-gga lookin’
so what i’m on i gotta keep it secret
that face no stevie no mimi, i promise teyana that i won’t leak it
gripped the 30, just cashed out
if you caught strippin’ then you -ssed out
i’m the same n-gga my city asked about
while you in the cut steady buyin’ clout
f-ck the judge, let 9 out, hairpin trigger, let 9 out
four birds in the trap like four wings at harold’s
with fries covered in mild sauce
everytime a n-gga rap beef, get clapped up in a couple weeks
ig comments and a couple tweets
location on, we can go and meet
headshot, i’m outta town, i’m in k!lladelphia with my n-gga meek
pop a wheelie in n-y-c, i got the 30 on with my n-gga flee
heard tyga sneak dissin’ on me, tell them thot b-tches i’m not right
tyga only got one name, but that n-gga ain’t got one stripe
he backpack, so easy to get the n-gga sh-t sn-tched
ask mally mall to get his sh-t back
in chiraq, don’t come here
you ain’t from here? don’t come here
’cause shorty snipin’, bag on him if he don’t like this
no young chop, that .40 bangs just like him
30 punch like tyson
back to the rap flow, hot sh-t
f-ck i gotta rap for, got bricks
every city i go, got sticks
pockets wells fargo, no bricks
say i’m on top now, no sh-t
you can never say i wife sh-t
i don’t even like sh-t, i just pipe sh-t, one night sh-t
l.a. with k!llas and thuggers
new york slowbucks, them my brothers
a-t-l with migos and young thugger
we gon’ shoot sh-t up in public
and they gotta urge to take
chiraq, look at the murder rate
500 dead bodies, better go and get money ‘fore you be on first 48

[verse 3: shy glizzy]
you wear red bottoms and phillip lim
everybody tryna get a hold of him
bad b-tches they be in benz
i knock ‘em down like bowling pins
feds sn-tch me, i don’t know them
real n-gga on 4nem
young jefe, the new soulja slim
hangin’ out the tank with slow and them
come take a trip to d.c.
hear a lot of me and see gg
i’m the big dog, i’m ringin’ off
like mambo sauce on a 3 piece
“glizzy, why you ain’t d.c.?”
who said i ain’t d.c.?
f-ck ya b-tch to my cd
she let me record her like mimi
a n-gga playin’, it’s lights out
ooh, shine got me iced out
stay low ’cause the mice out
you only get fly when the mikes out
can’t wait ’til it get nice out
tell chino bring the bikes out
got 50 guns in my trap house
you better off f-ckin’ with the white house
i’m the realest youngin’ in the f-ckin’ world
i got plenty money, i got plenty girls
got a villa for the week, got fifteen freaks
and they all wanna go for a f-ckin’ swirl
had her come to us with the marble pearls
glock 23, treat her like my girl
357, that b-tch just twirl
make him catch our sh-t like fitzgerald

[hook]
you f-ck around get smoked
you f-ck around, you f-ck around, you f-ck around get smoked
n-gga, you f-ck around get smoked
you f-ck around, you f-ck around, you f-ck around get smoked

- meek mill lyrics

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