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quilly - big amount (freestyle) lyrics

[intro: quilly]

nana! yeah yeah! nana!

[verse 1: quilly]

i got a big amount, i think i’m the biggest out
she gon’ get us all lined up, that b-tch got the biggest mouth
she irking, dam near blew my high
before she blow it, i’ma kick her out
started off in the bas-m-nt, big tigger; need a bigger house
cream soda; throw a 4 on it
silk scarf wit the skull on it
wooden floors; you can bowl on it
keep a secret; mason margielas
i might have to put my soul on it
moonwalkin’ then i roll on it
sh-t lit, put the stove on it, i be writing for your favorite rapper
quilly soundin’ like hov on it
need some syrup wit my pancakes
you don’t even know the handshake
in the field, i should landscape
i record, i don’t hangout, bending in a bentley
bout to bang out
servin’ junkies out the window
you ain’t heavy, get your (?)
talkin’ reckless on my iphone, i should sock you like kimbo
you ain’t buy it, that’s a high rental
milly rockin’ out the hospital
(?) shine a couple racks on me, in them foreigns
back to back homie
if i pop you, you gon’ rat on me, alexander, that mcqueen on me
good work; got the fiends on me
hi-tech; got the lean on me
hit her wit that anaconda n-gg-, all foreign, all designer n-gg-
i’m the future, you desiigner n-gg-
everything i do, for certain n-gg-
you’re a maybe, sort of, kinda n-gg-
you already know we rockin’ n-gg-!
fn wit the clip full, silent dog food wit my pitbull
in the bentley, get my b-lls sucked
shine the choppa, get my d-ck pulled
run it back, she love my adlibs, i fell asleep on a bad b-tch
hi-tech got me real high, bad boy; let me woosah!

[talking: quilly]

let it breathe. ha, i ain’t even write the last 16. (where them adlibs come from?)
i just be saying this sh-t, i don’t know where this sh-t comin’ from
(hey, june turn me up)
we gon a lil’ bit more (i’m droppin’ this right now, tonight)
hold up

[verse 2: quilly)

uh, andy griffith wit the theme songs
hakeem olajuwon; dream on
i just rap and it went pop, checkerboards on my flip flops
dont check me, check your b-tch n-gg-
you think she bad but she hit n-gg-
everything i drink, hit n-gg-
better watch what you sip n-gg-
if you want me baby come get me
come up shows, flow to jails, f-ck wit me
“oh my god, he gotta gun wit em”
better run, better run ricky

[talking/ending: quilly]

“oh my god, he gotta gun wit em”
better run, better run ricky
haha, let me hear this sh-t from the top

- quilly lyrics

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