Текст песни Lock In - French Montana
Rip
talk,
cook
bullshit
Hit
it
for
these
you
big
ass
pranksters
For
that
arm
and
hammer
kind
of
cook
He
dropped
the
bird
Lost
200
grams
Would
they
do
that
That
I
dropped
the
bird
and
got
slow
hundred
back
Reproduce
the
crap,
my
whip
game
proper
I’m
something
like
a
monster
But
whatever
suitin’
inside
to
get
and
turn
into
a
monster
And
problems,
lay
‘em
down
The
way
I
do
it,
deserve
a
NAFTA
Damn
I
miss
my
nigga
Shakes
But
hold
your
head,
nigga
I
gotcha
I
was
pedaling
mono-ways,
now
I’m
standing
on
a
surf
board
Drugs
beside
me,
cuz
Imma
Imma
coke
boy
(what?)
Imma
coke
boy,
Imma
Imma
coke
boy
French
sold
me,
don’t
let
him
breathe
So
we
prepared
to
get
choked
boy
Ridin’
on
these
niggas,
they
forgot
my
name
was
Flipper
Just
acting
like
that
I
got
fat
and
I’m
playin’
out
with
them
triggers
Red
bottle
my
bitch
She
got
a
few
pair
that’s
custom
made
And
inside
on
the
sew
it
say
I
love
my
motherfuckin’
B
Flipper
Cocksuckers,
the
best
that
ever
did
it
Legend
that
27,
I
was
the
only
one
to
defeat
it
Name
rings
up
steep
like
I
just
did
a
bid
But
I
never
did
a
thing
motherfuckers
so
don’t
forget
it
G,
I’m
a
stone
cold
criminal
Acts
on
these
niggas
have
promised
me
what
my
men
will
do
They’re
here
for
your
benets
Now
suck
my
dick,
where
my
manners
at
Knock
‘em
off,
send
‘em
to
heaven
right
where
my
neme
at
Young
boy,
sling
it
and
bing
it,
I’m
organizing
that
Just
that
I
took
problem
at
That
dog
shit,
Imma
dog
for
that
Your
hood,
I
do
rap
for
that
Them
niggers
sweet
like
a
summer
patch
I’m
eatin’
Why
you
think
I’m
fat?
Like
a
cabbage
pack
I’m
waving
on
for
that
sip
I’m
shaving
off
of
that
brick
Your
lady
offer
my
tip
Cuz
it’s
patches
up
in
my
whip
Put
that
bracelet
up
when
I
whip
With
that
pinky
ring
when
I
stir
With
that
fat
mac
and
that’s
flip
That’s
your
bitch,
I
don’t
love
her
Half
a
mill
on
your
brain
Hal
a
mill
on
my
chain
My
Chevy
sittin’
straight
up
My
finger
prints
on
that
grand
Imma
Imma
mother
Imma
motherfuckin’
coke
boy
That
scoot
up
and
hit
your
cabbage
for
that
loke
boy
Oh
boy,
this
that
mix
it
with
that
bag
of
soap
Fired
up,
go
and
make
a
quota
Elegant
as
ever,
jury
custom
fit
My
ensemble
is
out
of
trace
and
everyday
I’m
spit
Trust
me,
this
ain’t
the
licky
one
She
gon
bargain
for
the
homie
She
want
Mickey
once
Shot
and
hit
the
chest
plate
seven
times
No
you
own
that
gun
you
reminiscing
that
it’s
out
Close
those
shades,
lock
that
door
so
we
can
count
this
money
We
lose
count,
fuck
it,
my
accountant
count
it
for
me
Niggers
in
position,
I’m
high
on
that
totem
Last
thing
you
remember
is
that
barrel
explosion
Bang
boom
time,
I
never
wrote
it
Only
leader
in
my
nation
with
a
hundred
soldiers
But
let’s
see
if
I
can
change
for
my
new
bitch
Shout
to
Seymour,
I
be
on
my
true
shit
Up
town
nigga
that
be
down
about
it
He
never
did
nothing
nobody
working
boys
shot
Have
mercy
on
his
soul,
statistical
slam
So
that’s
the
leg
field,
all
aboard
this
money
train
1 Bad Bitch
2 Lock In
3 Sending My Love
4 She Will
5 Untouchable
6 Wake Up
7 Cosmic Kev
8 Off The Boat
9 Miley
10 Hurt Somebody
11 Shot Caller (Remix)
12 Let It Go (Remix)
13 Lawyer Fee's
14 I'm From The Trap
15 Bone Crusher
16 The Money Dont Stop
17 To The Top
18 Ya'll Dont Hear Me Tho
19 Brick Squad Coke Boyz
20 Stay Schemin
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