OFF THE LOT REMIX lyrics

[Part 1]

[Verse 1]
M-My n*ggas rockin' that Prada, Prada (Mix it up)
You can get killed for a dollar, dollar
Give a f*ck what you said, I'm like, "Rada-Rada"
Yeah, and that n*gga got popped like a Perc'
Get put on a tee, now what size is yo' shirt?
I'ma get rich, yeah, I feel like 50
Brand new b*tch, she keep wearin' Balenci', Balenci', Balenci', Balenci', Balenci', Balenci', Balenci', Balenci', Balenci', Balenci', Balenci'
I'ma get rich, P Diddy
Bad lil' hoe, just give me that kitty
If a n*gga get shot, then he look like Ricky (Yeah)
And my n*ggas gon' level up
I might ride in that Benz or the Tonka truck
Sippin' purple, that icky, that doublе cup
And my n*ggas, we made a wave
I said f*ck thеm n*ggas, they'll die if they play
B-b*tch, I put that on my grave
I'm a smart-ass n*gga, I ain't failing my grades
W-W-W-Whole lotta lean, yeah, whole lotta Wock'
I'm in LA, where the sun don't stop
b*tch, I might cop me a drop
n*gga run up and he, uh, might get popped
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop
I swear, n*ggas not as real as me, man
Real sh*t, man, forreal
[Part 2]

[Chorus]
Young n*gga, blick 'em (Uh)
Silly rabbit, you can't trick me (Uh)
Three Glocks, n*gga, so picky
And I told my n*ggas, I gotta go get 'em (Yeah)
My n*ggas shoot like Dirk, talkin' Nowitzki

[Post-Chorus]
You know my cup too p*ssy
And look at your b*tch, she miss me
I told her to hit it, can't give her no di*k, 'cause I'm busy
I ain't talkin' no Yeat, yeah that's twizzy
Your b*tch said she hot dog, n*gga, I'll give her the glizzy
f*ck a b*tch, talk about Biggie
Lil' twizzy gon' spin on his block, like a motherf*ckin' fidget
Lil' n*gga run, I ain't talkin' for President
Taliban, b*tch, we takin' your residence
And I swear my lil' broad, she came from heaven, man

[Verse 2]
Run up, gon' blick him, make sure you hit him
I tote my rocket, the clip, it's gon' di*k him
Look at my attire, it's Rick and some denim
Look at my whip, b*tch, the windows are tinted
Don't go and comment and post your opinions
She gon' get slayed, she swear that I'm sinnin'
We don't cop matching fits but I swear that we twinnin'
[Chorus]
Young n*gga, blick 'em (Uh)
Silly rabbit, you can't trick me (Uh)
Three Glocks, n*gga, so picky
And I told my n*ggas, I gotta go get 'em (Yeah)
My n*ggas shoot like Dirk, talkin' Nowitzki

[Verse 3]
She ain't had no bread, so I paid for her titties
Texako, my b*tches strip in the city
And I walk in the club, I don't got my blicky
I don't got my—
"We really up, on god"

[Post-Chorus]
I ain't talkin' no Yeat, yeah that's twizzy
Your b*tch said she hot dog, n*gga, I'll give her the glizzy
f*ck a b*tch, talk about Biggie
Lil' twizzy gon' spin on his block, like a motherf*ckin' fidget
Lil' n*gga run, I ain't talkin' for President
Taliban, b*tch, we takin' your residence
And I swear my lil' broad, she came from heaven, man

[Outro]
Runner gon' blick him, XD gon' hit him