paroles de chanson Indeed - P-Trill feat. Dae Bandz

Trill and Bandz, yes indeed
Trill and Bandz, yes indeed, ooh, huh
Uh, listen

She tellin' me to chill
Been tryna get a bag while we move out in the hills
I been makin' niggas mad while I keep it a trill
I been all up in my bag, tryna pay my mama bills
Huh, and don't say
I hit a stain in broad day, in all ways
I get a bag in all way, like Broadway
In any way, I gotta get it
Niggas mad, they really snitches
I gotta get it
Water whippin', I'm in the kitchen
My mama prayin'
Gotta get it like I'm insane, huh
And you don't know what I'm sayin'
I had to get a bag
TK never last and we run it back like some runner backs
All the whippin', that quarter pack
Niggas sayin' we got the pack
All the shit, I been the plug
Niggas know Dae Bandz really been the Cuz, 4Tr3Y all day, huh
M8V3N Gang, Shooter Gang, huh
GDK, you don't know what I'm sayin', huh?
I make ya bitch sing, like the ringtone
Gotta get it any way, like I been home, huh
Yeah, I been home

Trill and Bandz, yes indeed (Ooh)
Ooh, ayy, ayy

Feelin' blue, I grew to want cream
Yellow sunny days are when I blew all the green
Those are corny lines, of course, damn, I'm runnin' off course
But ya girl on all fours, she tryna study the Force, damn
Sad boy, he a sad boy
Ha, sad boy, he a sad boy
Play me like I'm Joker, my niggas backin' out mad toys
Bro got the poker, no Facebook, get back, boy
Needle give a hater red ink, yeah, new tatt, boy, uh-huh
They talkin', I let 'em cap
Really shows who on my sack
We spend it and make it back
He reachin', bro, he a hack
Sip Haterade, take a nap
Finna put him on his back
I'm the man, ain't talkin' Pac
I pull up with real raps
Collectin' chicken, no wrap
We're the newest Men in Black
Everything I say is facts
Ain't catch it, then run it back
I'm really just tryna mack
She really want me to crack, hol' on
That's if she hit me on the IG Live
She five foot, I'm 6'2", she ain't gettin' a five
One on one with the .9, I'm lookin' for dimes
The way his .40 passin' bullets, he'll finish the job

(Oh my God, nah, Trill)

Hol' on, hol' on, hol' on
The way his .40 passin' bullets, he'll finish the job