دانلود آهنگ Stay Ur Distance از Yo Gotti

Stay Ur Distance

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    خواننده: Yo Gotti
    ژانر: Hip Hop, Rap
    لیبل: inter
    تاریخ انتشار: August 28, 2020
    زبان آهنگ: English

    متن ترانه

    [Intro]
    Ayy
    Ayy, I been quarantined ’cause I ain’t f**kin’ with niggas anyway
    Stay your distance, p*s*y
    Yeah, stay your distance, p*s*y (Tay Keith, f**k these niggas up)

    [Verse 1]
    First week of that virus, I lost a half a mil’ (Five hundred)
    Let’s see who gon’ survive and who got hustlin’ skills (Hustlin’ skills)
    Niggas still outside, they must don’t think it’s real (Niggas still outside)
    Kinda miss Southside, I wanna be in that field (Wanna be in that field)
    My mask Dior, your bi*t*h just hit my phone, I just might smash her more (Bye-bye)
    Gave her the di**, the best night in her life, what else you askin’ for?
    Touch my chain, I crash of course (Uh-huh)
    That’s one mission you had to abort
    Thug life, nigga, I’m passionate for it (Passionate)
    Back outside, can’t find the doors
    Fivе, six Lam’ trucks, five, six Cullinans (Phew)

    [Chorus]
    Nigga, we back outsidе, back outside, back outside
    Nigga, we back outside
    Chrome Hearts, Amiris, a million in jewelry (Beep)
    Nigga, I’m back outside, back outside, back outside (Yeah)
    Nigga, we back outside
    bi*t*h gettin’ flewed out ASAP (ASAP), if I like, then tap, tap
    Shit been lit, it’s ’bout that time, let them know you back outside
    Back outside (Back), back outside, bi*t*h, we back outside
    Back outside (Back), back outside, bi*t*h, we back outside
    [Verse 2]
    I don’t want no handgun, I need an AK (A whole Drac’)
    Busted-down Patek (Patek), she bust it down, respect (Respect)
    She don’t respect no sucker, street shit from her brother (Yeah)
    And if you cuff her, you gon’ have to buy her that Chanel bag before you f**k her
    That’s on Coco
    Everything Gucci, no logo
    Everything platinum, no promo (Promo)
    Gotti won’t go, my bro know, yeah, yeah (At all, at all, at all)
    Pack in
    No rap money, no backends
    Thought he was your opp, now you’re back friends (What?)
    That’s how a lame get done in, dummy (Bah)
    I want the money on the front end (Front)
    It’s murder on all of my run-ins (On sight)
    Twenty-thousand square feet, eight-figure cribs all I can live in (Facts)
    I’m the type follow a nigga bi*t*h, fly her out
    I’m the type pipe her up, show her life about (Yeah)
    She the type wife-like, but not really (Really)
    She match my energy (Twin)
    She like when I stick the thumb in her butt, go’n, let her cum on the millions (Uh)
    Flag on the play, bi*t*hes been wildin’ out, ain’t no more Wildin’ Out
    I got a drum like I’m Nick Cannon
    I’m a street nigga, I won a Grammy (Yeah)
    I’ma be good, word to my granny (Yeah, yeah)
    Shawty a** fat just like her mammy
    My bi*t*h a job, shout to JT
    Touched down in Miami, I’m on a ski
    Two-tone Cuban, they eighty a piece (Woo)
    Bricks, spent forty a piece (Woo)
    Dugg want forty a verse (Woo)
    Big Berg in the Honda, the purse (Woo)
    [Outro]
    And we coppin’ shit in the recession, nigga
    Fire hoes too, you know what I’m sayin’?
    Label tried to give me a new deal for the twenty mil’ (What you do?)
    Turn ’em down (Hah)
    Back and forth with the plug, talkin’ about numbers
    Pack on the ‘Hound
    Frrt, frrt, frrt, frrt
    Frrt, frrt, beep, beep, beep
    Frrt, frrt, frrt, frrt
    Frrt, frrt, beep, beep, beep

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