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rrose rrome & chris brown - draco (freestyle) lyrics

[intro young lo]
yeah, look, woo
ohb sh-t, look, uh

[verse 1: young lo]
swear these b-tches think i’m bruce wayne
pull up in that blacked out aventador
young lo with the bag
f-ck you little n-ggas rentin’ for?
fixed up your life and paper tags on your wife
if i only hit it for the night, why that price tag was light (woo)
f-ck boy don’t run
tryna book me for the tec, they ain’t know i had a gun
yeah, i came about the slums
where the thugs and the k!llers at
started with a gram, had the chickens to a quarter pack
now i’m doing numbers, bust a play like a quarterback
rg3, i could dish it all for runnin’ back
straight n-ggas stay, used to never get the interstate
lee ainslie with the bricks, b-tch, i’m pushin’ heavyweight

[interlude: young blacc]
young blacc n-gga, i promise, i got ’em
look, look, look

[verse 2: young blacc]
whatever time it is, f-ck it, here, i’m goin’ in (yeah)
know my bullsh-t like the knicks, but i’m back to winnin’ (ha)
tell me sue or ten, john stark said he close to kin
subway on the way to harlem just to get some scenes
move it from the from the corner store (yeah)
said he got a couple bricks (yeah)
ohb n-gga so the crowd lookin’ for a leak (i got it)
hoody baby posted at the trap ’cause he gettin’ in (we gone)
flawkoe on the phone with a play, guess i plugged it in (hahaha)
that’s the money talk, n-gga, and you know i’m with it (know i’m with it)
and if your b-tch sell her p-ssy, course i’ma spend it (i’ma spend it)
that’s that d-boy talk for them drug dealers
and just left detroit, f-ckin’ with them thug n-ggas
they say that out of town money look the best (yeah)
so i’m focused on this money, lil n-gga, f-ck the rest
when i got it, i got ’em, my n-gga flawkoe on problem
i tell my son to go rider and then we pull up on side ’em, blaka

[interlude: rrose rrome]
yeah, yeah, yo

[verse 3: rrose rrome]
i should write a book, i love the life full of crime
bein’ a millionaire, i put my life on the line
who can you trust when it’s coming so fast?
take shots make margielas turn into toe tags (graaa)
everywhere i go, white b-tches say i’m gnarly
flawkoe we doin’, bentley truck or the ferrari? (ah!)
.40 on the scene, you can tell your man i’m sorry (i’m sorry)
it’s ohb, bet we f-ckin’ up the party
yeah, money orders if my mans locked
something you should know, super flexin’, got your man shot
yeah, vvs is made of headshots (yeah)
hold up, i’m just a bully in a sandbox (yeah)

[verse 4: hoodybaby]
rings so big, all these b-tches think i’m wrestlin’
i just hit a l!ck with the team, we the champions
hold up now, you gon’ have to count the cash again
hoody baby knows it, picking in the bag again
i be selling white girls, marilyn and marilyn
red light, green light, all i know is traffickin’
all i know is packagin’, all i know is damagin’
all i know is come through, and chop it up and handle it
check me out, i be movin’ work
i be movin’ weight, i be pumpin’ base
my clique ride like some bmx’
my next shine they are vvs’

[verse 5: chris brown]
’cause i work my county line, pressin’ line
run up on a blood, where you from? east side, bompton balifornia
and you ain’t never hit a l!ck and have to run up on ’em
virginia n-ggas know about sellin’ on 95
show up at your door, it’s halloween, like i’m michael myers
jamaican savages comin’ at you, with all the knives
spittin’ brazys and goin’ crazy like colombines
i got the ak, f-ck your draco and your .45 (yeah)
you know that he gon’ snitch, know that he a b-tch
and you know a n-gga ballin’, know a n-gga rich
really been in county, n-gga, you know what it is
you payin’ money for protection, n-gga, you a b-tch
say it with your chest what you say? what you say?
p-ssy n-gga we on the net, runnin’ from the fade
know you gon’ tell the 12 all about me
know you gon’ sign the paperwork and n-ggas, gon’ speak
tryna sell you own -ss, tellin’ all you homies
i’ma f-ck you up in private, so these b-tches don’t see
i ain’t gotta be your favorite, you ain’t gotta love me
i ain’t gotta pay no k!llers, ain’t gotta be drug free
n-gga sayin’ that i’m on that cocaine
sayin’ i’m higher than a motherf-cker, okay
but when i fire your -ss up like propane
blaka, blaka with the choppers, we k!llin’ n-ggas with no names

- rrose rrome chris brown lyrics

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