Lyrics Jet Lee - Big Yavo

Ayy, man, that choppa havin' acne
A bump on my stock (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 walkin' wit' 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 wit' it
Please reach for my chain, I'ma get self-defense
In N.Y. four-five days, posted up sellin' nicks

Ayy, posted up sellin' 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 doin' good, throw him some extra shit

Send me some money and a addy, I'll mail you this
My big brother, he be cookin', you might smell some shit
Can you smell the rock? It cookin'
This a Dior jacket, normally Aeropostale hoodies

My last pay look like Ashton Kutcher
I'm havin' dog shit, sell you a master bully
So much motion, save yo' Frenchie's
Want you a 20? Nigga, stop spendin'

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 goin' down like Jock
You can tell when a nigga lost, he start buyin' Jay
The nigga just was pourin' Wock', but now he sippin' Quagen
Nobody told you 'bout all 'em designer shoes anyway

Can't buy designer drugs if you ain't out here gettin' paid
Now you broke as fuck, tryna keep up with the fuckin' wave
Nigga, I can go designer or go D-boy, pop out hood baby
Dickie suit with the Nikes on, 250 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 third

And on my kids, all this shit facts, I ain't makin' no words
You seen Yay come through in that 'Cat, all makin' a serve
Prolly on the next street, yo' bitch wanna neck me
High top Ricks cost 17, these kicks high like Jet Li