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letra de this ain't nun new - young slo-be

[intro]
(bucky made a slap)

[verse 1: young slo-be]
float like a b-tterfly, sting like a bee, n-gga
ruler on me, mr. slo-be, i’ll teach n-ggas
n-ggas foul, n-ggas always tryna reach, n-gga
side talker, sidewalker, hop in the streets, n-gga
(lil’ b-tch, go’n f-ck it up
doin’ all that talkin’, n-gga d-mn near got his b-tch f-cked
big dog, n-gga, but i’ll be d-mned if i got my tail tucked
ooh-wee, i’m on the block, n-gga, catchin’—)
on a monday, n-gga
(ayy, kk broke the scale
tryna weigh two pounds, f-cked up the count, n-gga almost failed)
on a tuesday, n-gga
(ayy, i give you taco sh-lls
walk around this b-tch bored, let’s go drop somethin’)

[verse 2: ebk young joc]
all my n-ggas gettin’ money, send a package down the way
when this chopper hit his ass, watch him do the harlem shake
never see you in the kitchen, boy, you hardly movin’ weight
holdin’ up that lil’ chain in them pictures, boy, it’s fake
spin your block, now it’s wrapped in yellow tape
juvie with the tooly, durk and trey, them my snakes
manu ginóbili, a sharp shooter, free my ape
n-ggas talkin’ ’bout ballin’, let me know where your pape’
book me for a show, we ain’t worried, we got drac’
told my daughter watch my soda, she know daddy sippin’ drank
boy, this pop mixed with yola, play your cards, ace of spade
two hundred on the dash, i’m sick n-ggas tryna race
[verse 3: ebk juvie]
ain’t no question, guaranteed i’ma turn up
brodie keep torch, i just point, he gon’ burn somethin’
i ain’t seen brodie in a while, this like the third summer
slappin’ don dada with the shottas, got the curb jumpin’
if i shoot, brodie, he gon’ shoot, this sh-t vice versa
mad face, holdin’ on the drank, ain’t no nice person
quick to slap a b-tch, watch your lips, i’m like ike turner
ooh-wee, nah, this ain’t nothin’ new
joc gon’ act an ass in the ‘cat ’cause he up a few
speakin’ on my name to the b-tch, that’s what suckers do
thirty-eight hold six shots, that sh-t h-lla cute
ayy, ayy, n-gga, but it’s too small
too much beef, can’t fit ’em all in a u-haul
she was actin’ stingy with the pack, i cut boo off
he a b-tch, half stick on him, but let two off
ayy, half stick, but let two off

[verse 4: bris]
ayy, the glock got gonorrhea, ’cause the d-ck burnin’
i have them shooters hit your block, i be big wormin’
big pole on my waist, got my hip hurtin’
and your hood was ghost town, but we ain’t quit lurkin’
your b-tch ass in the house, you a housewife
and i be outside, they freed bris from that count time
i’m really ’bout mine
stackin’ bands, look, the amount climbin’
tryna outshine
but bullets rippin’ through the house blinds
and these n-ggas lil’ dogs, real ankle biters
this chopper drop an elephant like a tranquilizer
this k a lighter, let it spark, who wanna play with fire?
yeah, true story be the gang, i really hang a liar
do the dash in this whip, man, it’s a sport-plus
if you runnin’, knock him down and then torture
we gon’ jump out his bushes when his door shut
40 by the air conditioner, keep the blower tucked
[outro]
(bucky made a slap)

- young slo be

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