Testo Spiced - UnoTheActivist, Maxo Kream, Yung Gleesh

Spiced

Ass crack, boof pack, Act gon' pass that, we past that
30 thousand dollars in the hatchback
Flashback, abstract like who da told pet pack
Knapsack, 30 pints of syrup no flapjack (flapjack)
She take a nigga down, no talkin, no flap back
Young nigga sound like me no sand sack
Sand sack for a billion dollars to get wet wet
What the Hell Gleesh talk about bein back back?
40 gram up and get down they toe check that
Flauntin all down and off and dal and off a private jet
I’m a get it, who ya kiddin? I ain’t get challenged yet
Head shot… drink (drink) … stand up… drink (sip)
Sit down… drink (drink), and I ain’t lose my balance yet
I need to roll a blunt
Ya, what ah ya what hah huh
Coolin on the block smokin dope to the face
Niggas gettin smoked on the block erryday
Partna he a crook of the partner Nine Trey
Sending out the shots, it get hot erryday
Movin out the block with the stalk, set up shop
Mixin up the red with the wop with the work
Oh yeah, free the Wop, throw the guap on the thot (bitch)
Diamonds in my watch, all you niggas finna watch (hey)
(what ya what ay ya what what
What ay ya what what ay ya what what)
They wanna fuck with my team, I keep me a chopper it came with a beam (oh)
No janitor I got the keys these bitches they comin straight for the beast
All of my dope please, it will turn any nigga to a fiend
I swear to god now these bitches they come, no way these bitches won’t leave
I keep a drum, loud rututututm, the Bentleys they up in my sleeve (ya)
Niggas they come, but I keep a bum, or leave a nigga on his knees (what)
Bitches they come, mollies on tongue, now all my hoes get along
I feel like I don’t belong, I guess I’m on VLONE
Ay take that nigga down
Hit him for those pounds then you leave, not a sound
Kick a nigga door, tie him up with the zip tie
Stomped on a nigga, yeah I don’t let shit fly
Killers on his head, do the drop for a quick toe, I ain’t never been a bitch
Squeeze on the chopper till the gun go click (doot) dogs goin bark,
keep it low like Vick (like Vick)
Serving out the trap with the extendo sticks, going for the six-four,
no nintendo shit (uh huh)
Sixty for them wops, they three a pop, we got a lot
We pull up on your block, we set up shop, we give em out
Mix Hi-Tech with that wop with soda pop, it’s for my cough (*cough*)
Got ten packs of them Xannies, they go for Peyton Manning
Double wrap and seal the pack, hollows, hydros, dirty ratchets
Frontin in that spinach, cabbage, gasses, masks, smashes, spazzin
Catchin blasts, hold the casket, Hi-Tech blastin, taste for taxin
Leave the package down at Franklin, Reptar niggas, we Jurassic