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4 Seasons Lyrics - Artist : Burna Bandz
[Burna Bandz:]
You know the grind, you can't cheat it That's why I trap for four seasons Demons in the Demon Glock-19 leave you leakin' All this ice on me but I ain't freezin' Yeah I'ma let 'em have it Shooters matchin' Gucci bandanas Fuck around and do it on the camera Like, look at all these bands I done ran up Made the trap snow like Santa Even when I'm leanin' on the Scanna nigga This a Trackhawk, not no Camaro (SRT) She say Burna I ain't tryna share you Fuck her friend now she say I'm a player Ballin' hard, some' like Tatum All these extended magazines, I ain't talkin' bout the Fader Trappin' out the buildin' and I'm servin' all the neighbors And you know by any means, man, I gotta get this paper Bad bitch came through slayin' so you know I had to slay her She ain't suckin' dick then I'll holla at you later Don't come to my block, them youngins givin' out tapers Got 50 bands just to ice out the [?] Watchin' ozzies diamonds hit like Joe Frazier We made em viral, put 'em on the front page, yeah [Drego:] Man, boy, uh Put you on the news I can't lie lil' bro, can't even share a deuce Got some top shop for you, it'll take a two Got this hotrod for you, better be breakin' news Niggas snooze, play the fool, knock him out his shoes This shit brazy how I turn all of the greater blues My shoelaces say "SHOELACES," this Off-White boo It's kinda brazy c'ause my bag kinda off-white too We don't play it by the rules, nigga, we gon make 'em, we gon break 'em Hit him, shake him, right now they impatient Niggas talk shit, that's the type of shit that turn me up and get 'em offed quick Gotta chill down on em Percs, they be havin' me nauseous I'm the shit, how the fuck this AR grow some tits? Send a blitz Feds tryna sneak a picture so I'm fresh as shit I can buy a nigga bag and I can buy his bitch [Burna Bandz:] I can buy a nigga bag and I can buy his bitch I can buy a nigga top and I can buy a brick Rolls-Royce Cullinan, five-percent tint Like Donatello, my young niggas play with sticks [?] turn his ass fifth Money on your head, you know we gon bring that cash in Racks in, she gon' shake that ass for that backend All these Borden's plastic, elastic, can't fit Bando boomin', can't get a chance to eat, sleep, shit Water on my wrist, bitch say it get her seasick Crodie finger itch, he don't really need a reason We deep in the club and you know we brought the heat in And It's in his sleeve just in case these niggas schemin' I got on Palm Angels but I'm hoppin' in the demon |
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