Big Yavo – Jet Lee ( Lyrics ) Letra Big Yavo Big Yavo – Jet Lee ( Lyrics )
Ayy, man, that choppa having acne, a bump on my stock (Ayy, let that shit ride, Tav)
And that Glock, that ho bipolar, a switch on my—
Uh, mm, mm, mm, a switch on my—
I just be on that
Ayy, say, that chop’, that ho got acne, a bump on my stock
And that glizzy thing bipolar, a switch on my Glock
Ayy, .40 walking with it stuffed, can’t pull out my knot
Time and money, you don’t know it, all of my watch
Ayy, all up that wrist, I got dog shit
I know niggas hatin’, I’m in the mall with it
Please reach for my chain, I’ma get self defense
In N.Y. four, five days, posted up selling nicks
Ayy, posted up selling shit, nigga, I’ll sell a fit
She got a OnlyFans, bet, come here, I’ll sell a bitch
And if you want you somethin’, don’t come ‘round talkin’ ‘bout celibate
And lil’ bruh trap be doing good, throw him some extra shit
Send me some money and a addy, I’ll mail you this
My big brother, he be cooking, you might smell some shit
Can you smell the rock? It cooking
This a Dior jacket, normally Aeropostale hoodies
My last pay look like Ashton Kutcher
I’m having dog shit, sell you a master bully
So much motion, save yo’ Frenchie’s
Want you a twenty? Nigga, stop spending
Wanna learn how to cook? I know a chemist
Nigga, my dad and ‘nem been with me, no, yap
Scrape gang, scrape the pot
Go make a stop, then hit up the block
Or grab some work and set up shop
These niggas bankroll going down like Jock
You can tell when a nigga lost, he start buying Jay
The nigga just was pouring Wock’, but now he sippin’ Quagen
Nobody told you about all them designer shoes anyway
Can’t buy designer drugs if you ain’t out here getting paid
Now you broke as fuck, tryna keep up with the fucking wave
Nigga, I can go designer or go D-boy, pop out hood baby
Dickie suit with the Nikes on, two fifty in the Styrofoam
Pull some shit out a shoebox, so grown, have a whole mind gone
Plain Rollie another time zone, this that, “Sir, yes, sir”
When you sippin’ real drank, sometimes your words get slurred
Carti’ got my vision blurred
Ballin’, step back shoot like Curry
Like that, bitch, hang up my jersey
Icy, bitch, my wrist McFlurry
Don’t ask me where I’m at and don’t text back, gon’ have me worried
Nigga pulled up and slowed down and I upped my .30
I ain’t see 12, they told me drop my gun and I jumped the curb
I ran they ass all way to Whalen, all right by 3rd
And on my kids, all this shit facts, I ain’t making no words
You seen Yay come through in that ‘Cat, all making a serve
Probably on the next street, yo’ bitch wanna neck me
High top Ricks cost seventeen, these kicks high like Jet Lee
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