Icewear Vezzo, Babyface Ray - Sippin lyrics
Icewear Vezzo [Chivez Smith] Detroit, Michigan, U.S. 🇺🇸
Babyface Ray [Marcellus Rayvon Register] Detroit, Michigan, U.S. 🇺🇸
[Icewear Vezzo, Babyface Ray - Sippin lyrics]
Nigga talkin' this lean shit, nigga
You know what’s
(You can't fuck with us, nigga)
Really live this shit, nigga, Drank God yeah
Real Ghetto Boyz shit drank God
(Got this shit on me right now, nigga)
All real, real trap niggas
(Rich off pints for real)
We ain't none of these rap niggas
(No cap, yeah, Iced Up Records)
Got dog shit 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', nigga
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, nigga
(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 nigga, wеnt and got my chain bigger
I fuck with gang members
I don't fuck with rappers, I’ll crash out
Take his shit, these niggas straight bitches
Yeah (He pussy)
Long sleeve, that’s that Caddy truck
Sit that bitch on eight inches (For real)
Forgios, they look like Oreos
Black and white, i'm Raven
Slide to Truth, treat that
Bitch 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 (Bitch)
An '80s nigga
(What?) , I’m a real crack baby, bitch
I came from Section 8
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
(Fuck that btch) playin' with me
I pay 'em a fee and they
Walkin' on all of these lames
(Get that nigga) vVs all on my chain
TVs all in the Sprinter, I'm playin' the game
(yeah)
I'ma pourin' up-ass nigga, 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, nigga, 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
(Bitch)
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 nigga?)
Ayy, Saint Michaels, naw, this
Ain't Saint Laurent
Got ten hoes takin' shots
Niggas sendin' threats, switch move
Just like a 'Vette
Turn the crib to a vacant lot
I hate broke bitches, niggas who front a lot
I hate Tris and I hate the cops (yeah)
I love codeine, freak bitch 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, nigga
(Bitch)
Boy, you're a kid, don't stand next to
My gang, your wrist ain't a quarter, nigga
(Thirty)
Really a waiter, you know they hittin'
My line, I'm fillin' they order, nigga
(Bitch)
Money in boxes, startin' to run out of
Space, I feel like a hoarder, nigga
Fuckin' these hoes, soon as I get to
That age, we fuckin' your daughter, nigga
(Nigga)
Ran through the load, really, I need me
A plug, take me to the border, nigga
Yeah fuck these niggas
You know what’s
(You can't fuck with us, nigga)
Really live this shit, nigga, Drank God yeah
Real Ghetto Boyz shit drank God
(Got this shit on me right now, nigga)
All real, real trap niggas
(Rich off pints for real)
We ain't none of these rap niggas
(No cap, yeah, Iced Up Records)
Got dog shit 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', nigga
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, nigga
(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 nigga, wеnt and got my chain bigger
I fuck with gang members
I don't fuck with rappers, I’ll crash out
Take his shit, these niggas straight bitches
Yeah (He pussy)
Long sleeve, that’s that Caddy truck
Sit that bitch on eight inches (For real)
Forgios, they look like Oreos
Black and white, i'm Raven
Slide to Truth, treat that
Bitch 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 (Bitch)
An '80s nigga
(What?) , I’m a real crack baby, bitch
I came from Section 8
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
(Fuck that btch) playin' with me
I pay 'em a fee and they
Walkin' on all of these lames
(Get that nigga) vVs all on my chain
TVs all in the Sprinter, I'm playin' the game
(yeah)
I'ma pourin' up-ass nigga, 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, nigga, 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
(Bitch)
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 nigga?)
Ayy, Saint Michaels, naw, this
Ain't Saint Laurent
Got ten hoes takin' shots
Niggas sendin' threats, switch move
Just like a 'Vette
Turn the crib to a vacant lot
I hate broke bitches, niggas who front a lot
I hate Tris and I hate the cops (yeah)
I love codeine, freak bitch 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, nigga
(Bitch)
Boy, you're a kid, don't stand next to
My gang, your wrist ain't a quarter, nigga
(Thirty)
Really a waiter, you know they hittin'
My line, I'm fillin' they order, nigga
(Bitch)
Money in boxes, startin' to run out of
Space, I feel like a hoarder, nigga
Fuckin' these hoes, soon as I get to
That age, we fuckin' your daughter, nigga
(Nigga)
Ran through the load, really, I need me
A plug, take me to the border, nigga
Yeah fuck these niggas