Freddie Gibbs, Hit-Boy, Benny the Butcher - McLovin lyrics

Pretty little, pre- your lie, lie
Pretty little, pre- your lie, lie
Pretty little, pre- your lie, lie
We sell dope for a motherfucking living
Nigga you feel me? Fuck that rap shit
Pretty little, pre-
Your lie, lie (yeah, uh, yeah)

I was just fucking them girls
I was gon' get right back
I had a line on that soft
I was gon' switch it to crack
I stuck to tires like I'm fixing a flat
Swimming through racks
Cooked my first zip, lost six
Brought twenty-two back
Bitch, what you trippin' on?
Just sold a brick, still down to whip a song
I don't even fuck with the dawg
Straight cutting fentanyl
She asked me if I'm fucking her friend
Just know I'm hitting y'all fuck an opp
Two-fifty round drums when I give it to y'all
And it'll make The Shade Room if
These bloggers knew who I'm fucking
It'll make the same news if the
Feds knew who I'm plugging
You bought sixty grams off me
I probably threw in a dozen
You need a dope boy, bitch
Fuck you gon' do with a husband?
Bitch, I been on The Shade
Room, got three baby mamas, i'm thuggin'
TMZ been at my house, taking pictures
All of a sudden
Heard the DEA, they tossing indictments
They want to cuff him
I'ma leave up out the country
With fake ID like McLovin

Bitch, what you trippin' on? Thirty-six raw
Cut that with acetone
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, get hard
They hit the crack phone
(Bitch, what you trippin'
On?) Thirty-six raw, cut that with acetone
Saturday and Sunday
I only talk on the family phone (Shit)

These motherfuckers out here talking about
You know what I'm sayin'?
I'm tired of- I'm tired of
All these niggas talking
About this whole dope shit, the drug shit
Nigga nigga, I made it to
The motherfucking GRAMMY's, nigga
You talking 'bout ''Shit, I'll
Show you the raw'', nigga (Yo, yo)

I treat her like coke, get her wet
Then hit her with the ice
Reward a single bitch that's faithful to
A nigga with a wife
Plug hate me like I ran off
With bundles and fucked his wife
Migo stabbed me in the eye
Hit a dirty knife for the night
You ain't never been in a gang war
If you don't know my life
Feds got me up on the gang board, VL for life
Big Rabbit got a package, goddamn it
I keep a Sprite when Obama got elected
I caught a case with his wife (yeah)
Bitch, what you trippin' on?
They want to know how I feel
About Mach workin' with West
Why would I give a fuck? I'm rich already
I wish him the best
Played the game where a brick get you death
A hit get you less
Judged for the number on your shirt
But it won't be Mitchell & Ness
You like to claim her, the truth
Is we shared the bitch, so I guess
I sent her back with some cash in
Her purse and dick on her breath, yeah
I made my girl a star too
From buying all that yola
Y'all ain't hear Gibbs? Y'all hoes
Still crying in Toyotas

Bitch, what you trippin' on? Thirty-six raw
Cut that with acetone
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, get hard
They hit the crack phone
(Bitch, what you trippin'
On?) Thirty-six raw, cut that with acetone
Saturday and Sunday
I only talk on the family phone
(Bitch, what you trippin' on?)

This for my nigga Doug
First nigga ever gave me a brick, man
How I'm gon' forget you?
That's a chance, you'll be kiddin' me, haha
Federal district attorney bSF, nigga