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letra de woedy - rob49 & birdman

[intro: birdman]
ayy, yeah, i’m good rocking like this sh-t up
mm-hmm, got no problem, p-ssy-ass n-gga, mm-mm
ayy, yeah, you understand me?
this ain’t no o.t.t type sh-t, n-gga, let’s get it poppin’

[chorus: rob49]
yeah, i’m slidin’ expensive, i’m f-ckin’ two new group of b-tches, i’m blendin’ ’em in (i’m f-ckin’ two new group of b-tches, you hear?)
sh-t, my trappin’ too real, i don’t care what i do, i’ll fly a b-tch out to miami (i’ll fly a b-tch out to miami)
“49, why you be flexin’ so much, got more chains on then your ancestors?” (got more chains on then your ancestors)
i done took a thousand losses, no cap, i ain’t trippin’, i just wanna see my mans win (i ain’t trippin’, i just wanna see my mans win)

[post-chorus: rob49]
oh you got all the money? i know
you f-ckin’ all the hoes, uh-huh
heard you be sellin’ dope, uh-uh
i be sellin’ pounds, not rounds (gang)
oh, that’s bub? this is ‘za (sh-t)
hе want smoke, put him in a blunt (yeah)
he got good smokе in his lungs (yeah)
hunnid round drum on the gun (brrt)

[verse 1: rob49]
n-gga mad ’cause i’m richer then ’em (yeah)
like a ref’, bro too official
beat the block like mannie fresher, beat the case like johnnie cochran
i was lowkey tryna minimize it
rico story like speaker knockerz (brrt-brrt)
drive the whip like ricky bobby (grrt-grrt)
keep it solid, don’t tell n0body (uh-uh)
[bridge: rob49 & birdman]
boomin’ like the candy lady, woedy
i’m a real project baby, woedy
snappin’ like an alligator, woedy
and she gon’ give that face up, woedy
woedy, woedy, woedy, woedy (you know how i’m livin’, it ain’t no playing with none of you b-tch-ass n-ggas)
woedym woedy, woedy, woedy (y’all gon’ get border-lined, we on that different side, on gang-gang)

[verse 2: rob49]
yeah, baddie or not (yeah), if you ain’t f-ckin’ tonight, then i’m kickin’ you out (then i’m kickin’ you out)
yeah, cousin slingin’ that vaseline, treat the burglar house like a gold mine (yeah)
i ain’t even have no house, no cap, i was puttin’ my sh-t at my dog house (puttin’ my sh-t at my dogs house)
and i wasn’t trippin’, cousin, know it took time to get my own spot (yeah)

[post-chorus: rob49 & birdman]
oh you got all the money? i know (uh-huh)
you f-ckin’ all the hoes, uh-huh
heard you be sellin’ dope, uh-uh
i be sellin’ pounds, not rounds (gang)
oh, that’s bub? this is ‘za (sh-t)
he want smoke, put him in a blunt (f-ck with us, we on that same sh-t)
he got good smoke in his lungs (slime him out on that same ave)
hunnid round drum on the gun (yeah)
[verse 3: rob49]
twenty holes like savage ‘nem (yeah), sellin’ weed at my mamma crib (yeah)
paint her face like super set (yeah), how you lovin’ this goofy n-gga? (yeah)
you ain’t do what i think you did (yeah), fifty cent, she f-ck many men (yeah)
keep my heat, i don’t care what weather (yeah), roaches all in my granny crib (yeah)
i’ma f-ck ’cause i ain’t her friend (yeah), real money, i pay the b-tch (yeah)
no cap, i’ll buy a ho (yeah), fly ’em back on a private jet (yeah)
real p like pot and pan (yeah), n-ggas’ sweeter then cotton candy (yeah)
money taller then k durant (for sure), trap house jumpin’ like ja morant (sh-t)
he been sellin’ that ku klux klan (yeah), and he sellin’ that vulture pack
i guess he don’t play with tracks, he fell off, he still ain’t back (he still ain’t back)
i’ma press this engine until it bust, i’m tryna k!ll this b-tch (i’m tryna beat her up, yeah, yeah)
i feel like a six of james harden, i’m on my philly sh-t (yeah, yeah)

[chorus: rob49 & birdman]
yeah, i’m slidin’ expensive, i’m f-ckin’ two new group of b-tches, i’m blendin’ ’em in (you heard me? mm-hmm)
sh-t, my trappin’ too real, i don’t care what i do, i’ll fly a b-tch out to miami (i’ll fly a b-tch out to miami)
“49, why you be flexin’ so much, got more chains on then your ancestors?” (got more chains on then your ancestors)
i done took a thousand losses, no cap, i ain’t trippin’, i just wanna see my mans win (you heard me? i ain’t trippin’, i just wanna see my mans win)

[post-chorus: rob49 & birdman]
oh you got all the money? i know (real rich n-gga sh-t, boy)
you f-ckin’ all the hoes, uh-huh (stay in your lane, lil’ n-gga)
heard you be sellin’ dope, uh-uh (f-ck you talking ’bout, boy?)
i be sellin’ pounds, not rounds (gang)
oh, that’s bub? this is ‘za (sh-t)
he want smoke, put him in a blunt (yeah)
he got good smoke in his lungs (yeah)
hunnid round drum on the gun (brrt)
[outro: birdman]
real rich n-gga sh-t, stunna man
that boy, blatt

- rob49 birdman

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