Joe Dumars lyrics

[Intro]
(Getta Beats)
(It's BlueStrip, baby)
(Yeah, ayy, sh*ttyBoyz)
Yeah
We'll bring that to yo house, Joe Dumars
Okay, yeah, okay
f*ck around, yeah (sh*ttyBoyz)
Yeah (sh*ttyBoyz)

[Verse]
We'll bring the field to yo house, Joe Dumars
Put that dub down, I could pull that off of two cards
Shooting jacks out, passing bags, I'm a two guard
What's up with the diss songs? Don't know who you are
That's the type of sh*t to get you stomped, nah, probably shot
You could shoot a shot with my b*tch, nah, probably block
Hunnid shots left him Human Torched, we got his body hot
Soon as she wake up, she gon' treat me like a lollipop
You got demon DNA? Oh, till you angel dust
Talking 'bout you need an eighth? Oh, I need eighty bucks
Site crazy, BIN crazy, just grabbed a crazy punch
I ain't gon' lie, if you ain't us, boy, you lame as f*ck
Wild 'N Out, stay with the cannon like I'm Chico Bean
If you ain't gang thеn it's f*ck you, b*tch, I'm CeeLo Green
Looking at my pop like a scoreboard, I need a three
This a one dip, twеnty seconds, I could flee the scene
It's 2020, boy, you finished if you upping eight bands
That's damn near his ass is blade dancing in some Ray-Bans
Mirror tint, one night, two b*tches in the same trance
Stan got two sticks, he gon' fire like a caveman
Tryna fight? Must be from Atlanta, you a brave man
I be chilling, ain't gotta get off, I let my chain dance
Cash App flips kinda slow but you'll get paid, ma'am
See you got a lil' money now but you the same ham
Eyes low, swinging sticks, I look like Ichiro Suzuki
I be tripping, Amiri stitching dripping, this sh*t off the Gucci
Real scam vet, please don't ever think that I'm a newbie
White sock, block a ham but, b*tch, I'm Lillard when I shoot
I don't trip up with the Visas, I'm a wizard when I use them
Put that b*tch in drywall, boy, you see me, why your trigger neutral?
Can't get you hip but you better go and get into it
Pro scammer turned to Pro Tools, I done switched to music
When you getting money, it’s like b*tches getting hit by Cupid
Great credit score but I think this lil' b*tch is stupid
Every b*tch turned they back on me somewhere in the sewage
Just know if I ever go, I'm up there getting to it
Just know yo b*tch only yo b*tch when she with you (Yeah)
Just know I'm Tron Wick, I'll hit you with a pistol (Yeah)
Just know yo main mans, he can't even switch to (Yeah)
Just know I'm leaving hoes sick, get yo tissue (Yeah)
In a store, tell a bougie b*tch like, "Pick yo Clear Fruit"
This ain't Fornite but if it was, you'd be Tier 2
Art brought the Laffy Taffy in, I can't hear you (Damn)
In my live off a fake page, you so weird, dude
Fear of God on, you dumb as f*ck you think I fear you
Ain't no hustle in yo blood and I ain't standing near you
Thirty-four shots, f*ck around and Paul Pierce you
Talking 'bout a Demon, really Saturn when you steer through
2000s baby, young as hell with oldhead money
Big bank take lil' bank, cash on me, ten, dummy
Come and get yo b*tch, she irritating tryna vent to me
Lil' b*tch ew, got a man out here head hunting
'018, me and Stan was in the Benz thumbing
Everybody talking down on me, I'm ahead of 'em
Mike Amiris got a big loaf, I heard you bread crumbing
Ca—California king, my ex b*tch out here bed bugging