Re-Up Gang - I Shot Ya lyrics

I’m privy to the fact of the matter
That I shatter all records for the new king
Pardon as I catapult (yeah)
Fly high, Earl Manigault
Still in the kitchen with my
Fingers in the batter, y’all
(Clinton Clinton Clinton Sparks)
The magic man, turn soft to hard
Turn four into six, nigga, chart my odds
If he caught with that hard
It’s much harsher laws
And the hustlers, they love me, they laud
Applaud i’m at places on the hillside
They call for the Lord
R nineT crawling abroad
Throw paper like ticker tape drop when
The four to the floor
Got bad bitches crawling ashore
Yacht parked on the side of the
Villa where I’m sliding the door
Take a mil’, nigga, hide in the floor
Grand Cayman, we like cavemen
We put fire and the rock in
The pot so we can users-allure

I feel smothered by this music industry
I need a breather
Guess who’s back selling that shake
Like seizure?
I was on hiatus, I ain’t stop stunting
Neither
The Benz chariot, horses carry me like Caesar
To Hell with the label woes, suited-out CEOs
Thirteen grand for every "K", "I"
"L" and "O" get it? It’s rebate
How the fuck could I sell it slow?
And I be in that penthouse suite
Miami’s Delano
Rooftop, poolside, same as my room side
TV on the left, had to tell that bitch
"Move sides"
Then fly to Aspen that’s where we lose time
Baby girl gasping when I tell her
"Choose high" (Get familiar)
To the chill, I’m laughing
Howard hug her neck so good
While she shish-kebab snacking
Thousand dollars a SKU
Then we slide off in the ostrich-skin Bapes
A thousand dollars a shoe (yeah ah, can non)

Not a millisecond to waste
I throw a Tec in your face and empty
Don’t tempt me
To send thee to the fiery pit's
Talking loud, lot of mouth, but
Ain’t riding for shit, you bitch
(Boom) proper sick, my niggas is
Run up on you, look in your eyes
One to the wig niggas never seem to survive
And if they live
We back up, hop back out, give ‘em the clip
(The clip, clip) everything that it hold
’Til we feel we levitated your soul
Then we roll out and up, counting up
Seasick, turquoise waters, diamonds alike
How do you like? (Yuugh)
I never been complacent
Raising the bar, none of us adjacent
You ain’t on the team, I’m telling you
Remember this
Your time is limited, farewell, the bar-rel
You’ll be facing (Get familiar)

Never mind the hiatus, and dispel the myths
I can’t hide from it you can smell the rich
Bitches flock to it like they
Drawn to a scent we like sore thumbs to ‘em
The boys from the men
With alloy on the rims
It’s apples and oranges
Pulling up in rides with
Angels on the ornaments
Taking a bow as if someone applauded
I’m a show in it'self
I don’t need an audience
I tote that automatic for any nigga inching
Jumpy as fuck
Like I suffer from post traumatic
Syndrome, so, go ahead
Stab at it like a fork in the hand
L let them nines have it
Work in the kitchen, money in the Craftmatic
Re-Up, we up one like a plus addict
Nah, brothers, y’all’s a far cry from us
From the stoop to the coupe
In 600s and Hummers, niggas