Official lyrics

[Intro: Lul G]
You already know what time it is, man (Youngin on the beat)
Young n*gga too official in this b*tch
RIP all my too official n*ggas and free my too official n*ggas
Whole lot of gang sh*t in this b*tch, n*gga, you know how I'm coming

[Verse 1: Lul G]
Young n*gga too official, I can't f*ck with fake thugs
Ain't no peons in my circle, one dump, we all dump (Nerd)
If my shooter get to trippin', sendin' slugs, we all bust
Yeah, I get my own bag, still'll need a b*tch funds (b*tch)
Had to cut some ties off, b*tch, I don't know you
I can guide you to a bag if your n*gga won't show you (He won't show you)
Runnin' n*ggas fades? LOL, hope it's on you (Nerd n*gga)
'Cause this chop straight from Russia, I'll lay this b*tch on you
Shake a n*gga down with this Glock, hope his block with him
Ain't sparin' n*ggas' b*tches, if she with him, she get popped with him (Pop a b*tch)
Foreigns with the tint, oh, I'm duckin', it's them cops, n*gga
Feds and the cops, get off di*k, these all props, n*gga
Bag alert, yeah, it's on me, I'ma blow it all (I'ma blow it all)
Show my ass up in person, I do more than talk (b*tch)
Sprinter full of Glocks with them 'stensions, we do more than ball (We don't fight, n*gga)
I won't funk over no b*tch, so I ignore her calls (I'm ignoring calls)
I ain't even in my motherf*ckin' prime yet (In my prime yet)
You lost your b*tch, she on my di*k, n*gga, find that (pus*y, find that)
Backshots back to back, got her whining, "Dad"
She told you she don't suck di*k with her lying ass
Good di*k she don't get, you'd rather buy her bags (Rather buy her bags)
I'd rather spend it on myself, run through it kind of fast
But it ain't sh*t to make my motherf*ckin' bag, b*tch
Send the P's or drop a tape, now I'm back, b*tch
n*ggas slippin' up in public, f*ck it, pull a skit
I like f*ckin' suckers' b*tches, keep you n*ggas sick (Keep you n*ggas sick)
Young n*gga got a fetish just for sparking sh*t
And ever since Tut been gone, I'ma keep him lit
[Verse 2: Yatta]
Your name's in black and white, that sh*t too official
Lil' rat talk too much, call him Stuart Little
Hit for twenty with my dawg and ran through it with him
f*ck this rap, earned my name off of shooting n*ggas
We don't f*ck with them, them n*ggas all fake
f*ck with me, you in good hands, baby, Allstate
Get the pay, divi' it up, make sure my dawgs straight
Four P's, gold tee, that's a soft eight
My Muslim b*tch spit out the nut, it's Ramadan, she gotta fast
My b*tch bougie in her Gucci, sellin' coochie, she got class
With the ooh-wee, I'm a fooly, I'll do him with no mask
Ayy, the gooey got me snoozy, I feel droozy, I might crash
If the boys bust a U-ey, I'ma throw this b*tch in sports mode
Yatta got respect, b*tch, treat me with the utmost
Glock came with some titties that I can't wait to bust on
Had it on you, we start knocking, what the f*ck you n*ggas run for?
In the cell bustin' plays, in the pen' gettin' paid
And I'm on backpage, got my b*tches on the blade
In the county runnin' fades, see a sucker, tell him line it up
They probably 'member how we caught they big homie and popped him up
Jigga-lating off a jigga, percolating off a Perc'
Got my fingers up her skirt, think I'm finna make her squirt
Team full of shooters like Steve Kerr, man, my n*ggas go berserk
All I do is say the word, that's gon' leave some n*ggas smirked
I got n*ggas that sell crack, I got n*ggas that still jack
I got killers that love to kill for the thrill, don't need no flats
I got zips, I got packs, QP's, I got bags
I got white, I got black, I got chris, I got 'thrax
We got sticks on them straps, we got Glocks, we got MAC's
We got this, we got that, I don't know which one to grab
Her and her friend on my di*k, I don't know which one to stab
f*ck it, I'ma knock 'em both down, watch me go for the slam
His main b*tch my side b*tch, I don't think he know though
I'm funking with her baby daddy, we keep it on the low-low
I let her suck my di*k while I record the sh*t on GoPro
b*tch, I go by the Don Dada if you don't know
[Outro: Yatta]
Uh-huh
CorkoLandKrazy, b*tch