| Lyrics: | featuring Maxminelli
(Maxminelli talking)
Say check this out Bleed, look
Concentration Camp in this bitch
gettin heavy, ya heard me? We all foldin paper nigga,
you
Lucky Nuckles, that nigga Loc, Big Happy, Lee Tyme, you know me
Maxminelli I'm foldin
paper nigga, an Boo, an we layin low
cuz that's what Lay Low do, ya heard me?
I'm tellin
you, by the time that nigga OG come out of Paris
we gonna have somethin real swole to
fold
my nigga down in Bam foldin paper, my nigga Poola
my nigga Big Poola Mic
an we be
bout ta let em know what's the motherfuckin count say!
Chorus x1 (Maxminelli)
The
mutha fuckin count don't stop, an they don't quit
Shit a nigga can't fuck wit, you can't fuck
wit
You only live once that's how its cut,
So where the weed Young Bleed lets get tore
up!
Verse 1-(Young Bleed)
The ghetto got me givin up no love, tod ya this mornin,
you gotta know a nigga yearnin,
niggaz stole from the stop an go,
an seperate my weed
from the seeds,
an roll an optimo,
an saddle up my cattle cuz lets roll boy,
an every
nigga I know, livin it up like a cowboy,
shootin up some shit, for the fuck of it an I'm lovin
it,
I got a tray-80 for rainy days, an I'm huggin it, an muggin,
while I'm sippin on a
young tre-deuce, four-five,
all the way live, wit my homies wanna ride, southside,
got yo
mouth wide,
buggin for nothin, try to twerk somethin nigga
or hurt somethin nigga,
look
here, I be yo Huckleberry playin it rough,
quick on the draw like the last outlaw,
killin
'em softly,
hollerin dawg get off me,
tryin to boss me, an cost me a grip,
an got the
nerve to get flipped wit a nigga,
but see Trix is for |
