2000 Miles lyrics

[Intro: Loudpack Kap]
n*gga be in full go-mode like 24/8, you know?
We gon' get straight to that bag every time
Like don’t give a f*ck

[Verse 1: Loudpack Kap]
Came from the bottom of the map, just drove two thousand miles
n*gga say it's smoke, we 'bout that smoke, but we don’t smoke no Milds
I'm just tryna get it, why you actin' crazy, talkin' wild?
Knowin' when I catch you lackin', Lord knows it's goin' down
Broad day or nighttime, this sh*t here worth a lifetime
These n*ggas talkin’ cray, they ain’t got nan' cool, then lay ’em down
Tell him pick his coins up, but I can't never drop no dime
Gun powder from the carbine, boy, I love to bust that iron
You say you gettin' money, I say you not, I guess somebody lyin'
n*gga say it’s drill time, we slidin', guess somebody dyin'
It sound like you readin' when you rap, you n*ggas barely rhymin'
You n*ggas rockin' cheap diamonds, them b*tches barely shinin'

[Verse 2: The Real Drippy]
Okay, your b*tch head was too good, I had to double back
Them n*ggas act like snakes, you know them birds don't f*ck with that
I just walked inside the jeweler and I spent a couple racks
Now them diamonds in my face black like Kyla Pratt
I get Dior out of Neimans, I get Off-White out of Saks
I hit my b*tch from the back, then wrote "Drippy" on her back (Ayy)
My crib so tall, I think I need an elevator
I remember bein' hungry, livin' off a generator
I just bought a .223, them n*ggas better not f*ck with me
Okay, my diamonds black and yellow like a f*ckin' bumblebee
Drippy Iverson, I just broke a b*tch for thirty-three
She was thirty-three, I think I met her at the Doubletree
[Verse 3: 10.4 Chauncy]
Black hoodie, black ski mask, when we slide, we gotta keep them sticks inside the trash bag
SK and the M1 carbine come with the extended mag
n*gga know when we run down, we put that beam right on your ass
Young n*gga right on your ass
Pop out like I'm Jason, it's 'bout to get ugly like Freddy Krueger
So watch your mouth before you n*ggas lose it
b*tch, I go dumb just like the Three Stooges
These n*ggas faker than these action movies
If you ask me, these n*ggas big clueless

[Outro: Sauce Walka]
Ooh-wee, ooh-wee
Yeah, man, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout, you lil' funky-ass b*tch?
That's how we drippin' and splashin' down in the motherf*ckin' South
Bunch of diamonds in our motherf*ckin' mouth, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout?
From Texas to Florida in that motherf*ckin' order, we right by the motherf*ckin' water, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout?
From the bottom of Miami all to the way to back to California for a Grammy, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout?
On the beach where it's sandy with a b*tch named Sandy, you under-splash me?
Yeah, man, know what I'm talkin' 'bout, all about these chips, though
All about, that drip, though, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout?
You f*ckin' with Kap and we ain't talkin' 'bout nothin' that go on your head
We talkin' 'bout this motherf*ckin' bread instead
Yeah, man, we out in motherf*ckin' Miami with the real motherf*ckin' Haitians with the real motherf*ckin' gangsters
And we done came down to Texas to get real motherf*ckin' reckless
Benz and Rolexes
Diamonds on the necklace
Drippy, drippy, drippy
You b*tch-ass n*ggas can't get with me
It's TSF motherf*ckin' business
We splashin' all around this motherf*cker
pus*y-ass n*gga
Now tell your b*tch to get her motherf*ckin' ho up
So you can get your dough up
So you can, punk ass can grow up, ooh-wee