All Go lyrics

[Chorus: Kasher Quon]
Made ten up off an app, you made ten off a pack
Auntie just called and said she bringin' it back (She don't want it)
That is not real cookie, stop swearin' it's crack (At all)
If you f*ckin' with my music, stop sayin' it's wack
Made ten up off an app, you made ten off a pack
Auntie just called and said she bringin' it back
That is not real cookie, stop swearin' it's crack
If you f*ckin' with my music, stop sayin' it's wack

[Verse: Kasher Quon]
MGP on the bottle, stop sayin' it's Act'
You flash four on the 'Gram, stop sayin' it's racks
I'd be up a hundred if I knew how to stack
It wouldn't be no Kasher Quon if I didn't know how to rap
No matter the situation, I'ma carry the strap
It's just me and my b*tch like I married the strap
You ain't ever took a risk, you wouldn't carry the strap
Hams all on the floor interested in that
Then again, kind of nervous, fell victim of that
On my wife and the kids, I wouldn't get you like that
I blow a band, stack a band, I'ma get it right back
IPhones goin' crazy, it ain't orderin' Macs
Ham said, "If I spent five, can you throw in a hat?"
Yes, sir, no prob', you want a don or a snap?
I charged you the wrong amount, it was an error with that
Just resend another five, I'ma be givin' it back
Just for the inconvenience, I'ma give you a rack
Hang up the phone call 'cause I'm finished with that (I'm done)
Ayy, damn, that's the endin' in that, n*gga
Ayy, Joey, where you at?
[Chorus: Joey Vuitton 30k]
I'm on the way to Kentucky (I'm on my way)
Glizzy on my hip for a n*gga think he lucky (Dumb ass)
Stabbin' on a n*gga, main b*tch think I'm Chucky
Focus, young bull, put your mind to that money
I'm on the way to Kentucky (I'm on my way)
Glizzy on my hip for a n*gga feelin' lucky (Dumb ass)
Stabbin' on a n*gga, main b*tch think I'm Chucky
Focus, young bull, put your mind to that money

[Verse 2: Joey Vuitton 30k]
Hollow tips, he feel it in his chest just like soul food
Pull up to the crib and beat his ass, doin' more school
Y'all n*ggas really hoes, only tough over pro tools
I'm dancin' with the Glock, I feel like Usher
.223s in this chop, I let it rock and they gon' bust ya
Knife on this chop, don't get close, it might cut you
Pedophile with this pistol, it's gon' touch you
A hundred hundreds, b*tch, it's bustin' out the rubber band
Keep that Glocky in my hand, I'm from a troubled land
Shootin' at his feet, make that n*gga do the runnin' man
Yeah, I hit, but she belong to another man
Free Mari, free Milo, free my brothers, man
I'm the sh*t, I ain't nothin' like that other man
Polo, stop the beat, a ham just hit me up on TextFree
Bro got that chop, that b*tch kick just like Jet Li
Motherf*ck a Ford, b*tch, I need a Jag'
It's a knife, hell nah, bro, I need a mag
Call my killer, f*ck the cheese, he don't need the cash
Bro gon' look you in your eyes, he don't need a mask
And she gon' suck me 'til I bust, you gon' eat an ass
Keep a Glock 'cause I come from an evil past
My b*tch pus*y tight like tuxedo pants
And y'all n*ggas act like b*tches with y'all diva ass (Lame)
Y'all n*ggas just my junior just like Willie Moore
She ain't from Dimmsdale, she give me Dimmadome (Okay)
Chopper turn his nappy fro into a chilli bowl
And one bullet ain't enough, he need many more, b*tch