Lyrics Pop Smoke (feat. G.T.) - Dame Dot , G.T.

(Meech) lil' broke-ass niggas
Look

You say you gettin' money, nigga, me too (me too)
Chirps for a low number, I'ma need two (brrt), AR clip see-through
Nah, I ain't the nigga you wanna start with, get a nigga car flipped
I get money, fuck hoes, and talk shit (mwah)
Get a squad wiped for a couple of them oranges
I can't get no head in a whip 'less it's foreign
Regardless how she look, she gotta leave when I'm done

Bitch, I gotta flee, gotta run (gotta go)
Let off so many guns, leave his block soaked (brrt)
And I'm in Amiri and Dior like I'm Pop Smoke
He think that his bitch comin' back, but she not though (she not though)

Nigga, this a fin, but it sound like a chop, though
Bro say he gon' sweep a nigga with a mop, though
I fucked the shit out that bitch, then I got ghost
I blew some racks at the bar, but I got more

Block hot as hell, bro watchin' for the narcos
Slidin' down the mile high as hell, dodgin' potholes
What I'm sippin' on coulda paid a nigga car note (Wockhardt)
Swear up and down they gettin' money, but they not though (but they not though)

Light straps, big racks, yeah, nigga, we got those (we got those)
And we in Dior and Amiri like Pop Smoke (like Pop Smoke)
I just told two hoes to meet me on the top floor (mwah)
I slid past in a Rolls-Royce, thought they'd seen a ghost (ghost)

Check the score, we be havin' it
Money comin' like I'm walkin' with a money magnet
Dope on the stove, leave the pints in the cabinet (pints in the cabinet)
Use a bitch address to catch this lil' package

Racks in the bed, can't fuck on the mattress (nah)
Fuck the lil' eight, I don't usually fuck average (all tens)
Put the shit together, then make it all vanish
Got a half brick, you 'bout to see me do magic (voilà)

Nigga, I don't trust shit but my damn scale
I damn sure don't trust you, nigga, you'll tell (you'll tell)
I got a bag in, bigger than a whale
Got that Purina for you boys, hit a nigga cell

And I hate when niggas talk blow (shut the fuck up)
Who don't know it come soft, bro
You don't got no pape', you shouldn't even wanna talk, bro

Block hot as hell, bro watchin' for the narcos
Slidin' down the mile high as hell, dodgin' potholes
What I'm sippin' on coulda paid a nigga car note (Wockhardt)
Swear up and down they gettin' money, but they not though (but they not though)

Light straps, big racks, yeah, nigga, we got those (we got those)
And we in Dior and Amiri like Pop Smoke (like Pop Smoke)
I just told two hoes to meet me on the top floor (mwah)
I slid past in a Rolls-Royce, thought they'd seen a ghost (ghost)

(Meech)