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yatta - official lyrics

[intro: lul g]
you already know what time it is, man, young n-gga too official in this b-tch
rip all my too official n-ggas and free my too official n-ggas
whole lot of gang sh-t in this b-tch, n-gga, you know how i’m coming

[verse 1: lul g]
young n-gga too official, i can’t f-ck with fake thugs
ain’t no peons in my circle, one dump, we all dump
if my shooter get to trippin’, sendin’ slugs, we all bust
yeah, i get my own bag, still’ll need a b-tch first
had to cut some ties off, b-tch, i don’t know you
i can guide you to a bag if your n-gga won’t show you
runnin’ n-ggas fades h-lla well, hope it serve you
’cause this chopper straight from russia, i’ll lay this b-tch on you
shake a n-gga down with this glock, hope his block with him
ain’t sparin’ n-ggas’ b-tches, if she with him, she get popped with him
foreigns with the tint, all thuggin’, it’s them cops, n-gga
feds and the cops get off d-ck, ain’t no props, n-gga
bag alert
yeah, it’s on me, i’ma blow it all
show my -ss up in person, i do more than talk
sprinter full of glocks with them ‘stensions, we do more than ball
i won’t f-ck over no b-tch, so i ignore her calls
i ain’t even in my motherf-ckin’ prime yet
you on some b-tch, she on my d-ck, n-gga, find that
backshots back to back, got her whining, “dad”
she told you she don’t suck d-ck with her lying -ss
good d-ck, she don’t get, you’d rather buy her bags
i’d rather spend it on myself, i do it kind of fast
but it ain’t sh-t to make my motherf-ckin’ bag fl!ck
send the p’s or drop a tape, now i’m back up
n-ggas slippin’ up in public, f-ckin’ punks get it
i like f-ckin’ suckers’ b-tches, keep you n-ggas sick
young n-gga got a fetish just for sparking sh-t
and ever since, too big, dawg, and i’ma keep ’em lit

[verse 2: yatta]
your name’s in black and white, that sh-t too official
lil’ rat talk too much, call him stuart little
hit for twenty with my dawg and ran through it with him
f-ck this rap, earned my name off of shooting n-ggas
we don’t f-ck with them, them n-ggas all fake
f-ck with me, you in good hands, baby, allstate
get the pay, divi’ it up, make sure my dawgs straight
four p’s, gold tee, that’s a soft eight
my muslim b-tch spit out the nut, it’s ramadan, she gotta fast
my b-tch bougie in her gucci, sellin’ coochie, she got cl-ss
with the ooh-wee, i’m a fooly, i’ll do him with no mask
ayy, the gooey got me snoozy, i feel droozy, i might crash
if the boys bust a u-ey, i’ma throw this b-tch in sports mode
yatta got respect, b-tch, treat me with the utmost
glock came with some t-tties that i can’t wait to bust on
head on you, we start knocking, what the f-ck you n-ggas run for?
in the cell bustin’ plays, in the pen’ gettin’ paid
man, no more bad days, got my b-tches on the blade
in the county runnin’ fades, see a sucker, tell him line it up
they probably ‘member how we caught they big homie and propped him up
jigga-lating off a jigga, percolating off a perc’
got my fingers up her skirt, think i’m finna make her squirt
team full of shooters like steve kerr, man, my n-ggas go berserk
all i do is say the word, that’s gon’ leave some n-ggas smirked
i got n-ggas that sell crack, i got n-ggas that still jack
i got kids that love to k!ll for the thrill, don’t need no flex
i got zips, i got packs, qp’s, i got bags
i got white, i got black, i got crips, i got ‘thrax
we got sticks on them straps, we got glocks, we got mac’s
we got this, we got that, i don’t know which one to grab
her and her friend on my d-ck, i don’t know which one to stab
f-ck it, i’ma knock ’em both, then watch me go for the slam
his main b-tch my side b-tch, i don’t think he know though
i’m fonking with her baby daddy, we keep it on the low-low
i let her suck my d-ck while i record the sh-t on gopro
b-tch, i go by the don dada if you don’t know

[outro: yatta]
uh-huh
corkolandkrazy, b-tch

- yatta lyrics

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