Sippin lyrics

[Intro: Icewear Vezzo]
n*gga talkin' this lean sh*t, n*gga, you know what’s— (You can't f*ck with us, n*gga)
Really live this sh*t, n*gga, Drank God
Yeah
Real Ghetto Boyz sh*t
Drank God (Got this sh*t on me right now, n*gga)
All real, real trap n*ggas (Rich off pints for real)
We ain't none of these rap n*ggas (No cap, yeah)
(Iced Up Records)

[Verse 1: Icewear Vezzo]
Got dog sh*t in my pocket, all fives and twenties, look like the crack days (For real)
Got Quagen, Trishy, and Wock’ up in my bag, I miss them Act' days (Yeah)
Shinin', n*gga, rose gold 'Dweller on me brown like a frappé (Woo)
I hit my shells with chops and a whole lotta shooters, I still got trap ways
Yeah, don't hang with nothin' but robbers, jackboys, shiners, look at my homies (Ghetto Boyz)
Got a quarter bricky up in my Louis bag of that Calvin Broadus, n*gga (That doggy)
Dog food, countin' up all blues, stеp back, I prone it
Walk in Hutch and drop 200K just to match my Rollie, yeah
Paid n*gga, wеnt and got my chain bigger, I f*ck with gang members
I don't f*ck with rappers, I’ll crash out, take his sh*t, these n*ggas straight b*tches, yeah (He pus*y)
Long sleeve, that’s that Caddy truck, sit that b*tch on eight inches (For real)
Forgios, they look like Oreos, black and white, I'm Raven
Slide to Truth, treat that b*tch like the dub, I’m on stage like Flay did it
Don't take no L's, got big F&N, alphabets, that K with us (Yeah)
F&H (What else?), big boy, rep the lakes, big stepper like Kevin Gates (b*tch)
An '80s n*gga (What?), I’m a real crack baby, b*tch, I came from Section 8
[Verse 2: Babyface Ray]
I'm drinkin' and drivin', I know it ain't safe, Glock, no safety
Big boy money, don't be callin' me baby
I'm doggin' her out, but she stalkin' and callin' me crazy (f*ck that btch)
Playin' with me, I pay 'em a fee and they walkin' on all of these lames (Get that n*gga)
VVs all on my chain
TVs all in the Sprinter, I'm playin' the game (Yeah)
I'ma pourin' up-ass n*gga, countin' my cash
I'ma be pitchin' the bag 'til the last inning (Yeah)
Backend boys, damn near doubled up twice, brought a bag with me (You know that)
I don't gossip, n*gga, ask Wendy (You know that)
How you gang, you ain't ride with me? (How?)
How we opps, you ain't sent a shot, boy? (Lame)
25K, he'll hit the top, boy
Tied with the bird man, but I'm not a Hot Boy (b*tch)
On the couch, me and Meech, that's the real, my boy
Heard you gettin' money, how you feel, my boy? (How you feel, my n*gga?)
Ayy, Saint Michaels, naw, this ain't Saint Laurent, got ten hoes takin' shots
n*ggas sendin' threats, switch move just like a 'Vette, turn the crib to a vacant lot
I hate broke b*tches, n*ggas who front a lot
I hate Tris and I hate the cops (Yeah)
I love codeine, freak b*tch on her knees
Love money, so I make a lot (Ayy)
Money and lean, nah, I ain't changin' my ways, still eatin' at Zorbaz, n*gga (b*tch)
Boy, you're a kid, don't stand next to my gang, your wrist ain't a quarter, n*gga (Thirty)
Really a waiter, you know they hittin' my line, I'm fillin' they order, n*gga (b*tch)
Money in boxes, startin' to run out of space, I feel like a hoarder, n*gga
f*ckin' these hoes, soon as son get to that age, he f*ckin' your daughter, n*gga (n*gga)
Ran through the load, really, I need me a plug, take me to the border, n*gga
Yeah
[Outro: Babyface Ray]
f*ck these n*ggas