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quilly – stay down lyrics

[intro: quilly]
in this game, n-gg-, it ain’t what you know
it’s who you know. ha, i know the line
i’ve been through more sh-t than a lil bit

[verse 1: quilly]
gotta stay down, gotta make it to the top
hatin’ -ss cracker wanna put me in a box
bail money to the side, you gon’ make me call “shak”
quilly been hot, b-tch, give me my props
i don’t want much, but i really wanna a lot
i don’t wanna f-ck, i just wanna lil top
man, these hoes can’t fit in that drop
all this c-ke can’t fit in this pot
was a “pacman”, graduated to a dot
haines street, i grew up wit the “have-nots”
pullin’ all nighters just so i can have knots
made 10 grand sittin’ on the back block
33 shots in this lil -ss glock, internet thug, mac on me; laptop
f-ck a drive by, walk down on you; 2 shots, q-pac
f-ck these new rappers, i’m the new hot
all eyes on me, feelin’ like i’m 2pac
bricksquad, i’ma lose weigh; guwop
got the dope fiends shootin’ up flu shots
12 rounds on me, i don’t care if you box
c-ke, new edition; i’m sellin’ that bobby
i got that whitney right there in that alley
you in your feelings, in love wit a thottie
i make her wax on, wax off; mr. miyagi
can’t come to my house we can’t kick it; karate
i’m sellin’ percs and i work out; pilates
i make her f-ck me and slurp me; gellati
i make her get my backwood from the papis
i get my baggage right from the “ahki’s”
i remember when i used to where tommy
i remember b-tches used to walk by me
now, all of my b-tches are bad as taraji

[chorus: quilly] (2x)
stay down till’ you come up
never ever put my gun up
never ever let em get 1 up
if he run up, he get done up
all nighters till’ the sun up
i’m just tryna get a come up
stay down till’ the sun up
stay down till’ i come up

[verse 2: quilly]
i just want the fly things, tom brady; 5 rings
don’t worry bout who i’m f-ckin’
don’t worry about what i sling
got white like jim carey, n-gg-, me, myself & irene
pack, new edition; bobby brown, hater, let me do my thing
my car fast, my drinks slow, i go hard, my b-tch know
high as h-ll, i’m on the moon, et my finger, my wrist glow
don’t let em gas you like citgo, drop c-ke to the oils like crisco
haines street hustler, my strip know
i got the chip on me; talabisco
white the work like toby n-gg-, that’s dead weight
all these flows runnin’ through my mind, gotta headache
bang bangin’ like bam-bam till’ the bed break
smokin’ fruity pebbles, sellin’ flintstones, syrup; pancakes

- quilly lyrics

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