Lyrics Montana Of 300 – In My Bag
Text:
My chips, my cash, my drip, my splash
My kicks, my swag, your bitch, I smash
Live fly, live life, like it’s my last
My clip might blast, I’m in my bag
In my bag, like chips, I got salsa
Never ask for that pussy, she offer
Yeah I be drippin’ water
Keep a pole on me like my charger
Act like a hero, get put in a suit
Check on me just like a swoosh
This off the head, no salute
Just like a beetle, got juice
Mad they can’t do what I do
Expect me to fail
Got your hands out, someone give him a rail
Bread on me blue, but not stale
Had to bounce back off them L’s
Me and bro rockin’ like Kenan & Kel
Get up everyday and I hustle like Ed
I’m gon’ chase cash ’til a young nigga dead
Down to get money, no I’m never scared
I’m just gon’ do it, I don’t gotta say it
Catch me drippin’ in that Louis or Fendi
I got that soul like a 10 piece
Clean like a butler, no Jimmy
That shit that you talk don’t offend me
I’ma keep rapping and make niggas envy
My bro be shooting like Steph ’til it’s empty
None of my niggas is friendly, aye
I’m tryna ball just like NBA
I’m a collector machine
Living my life, I’m living my dream
Cut niggas off like a scene
Feeling your bitch today
Ooh, your chick I filet
Honey dip dick in your bitch
Flex, she blowing me like the TEC, yeah
My chips, my cash, my drip, my splash
My kicks, my swag, your bitch, I smash
Live fly, live life, like it’s my last
My clip might blast, I’m in my bag
Call it what you wanna, I stay with that blicker, that burner
That glizzy, that toolie, that iron
My momma told me you niggas gon’ hate us
Some said I wouldn’t make it, I knew they was lying
Count on me, I done won too many times
I like to drip in that Louis Vuitton
That ain’t my bitch, but that coochie is mine
She want me to lay up, like she threw me a dime
Feeling good, nigga how about ya?
Bro keep a Glock and nigga I’ll vouch
If a fuck nigga get buck-wheat
Point it at his top, ooh, Alfalfa
Dick for you pussies, I’m too raw
You are not fuckin’ with me, that’s blue balls
Keep a move in the whip, like a U-Haul
Don’t get hit with the stick, like a cue ball
Used to ride with that TEC in my drawers
Moving ’round with that weight, like a medicine ball
I’m rapping facts, I ain’t never been fraud
I got blamed for some murders that never been solved, yeah
Had to drive way before I was 16
Clothes to hoes to designer and ripped jeans
I’m not Kevin Gates, but my kicks clean
My whole squad drip, like a swim team
My daughter and son, they be fresher than Easter
Flexin’ and ballin’, Batista
Bitches know I’m a boss
I got cheese, I got dough, I got sauce, I could make me a pizza
Haters talk ’til it’s «hasta la vista»
Sit the fuck down, or get fanned like the bleachers
Word to God, it ain’t shit to take money out
I’ll make everyone pay, like the preacher
My chips, my cash, my drip, my splash
My kicks, my swag, your bitch, I smash
Live fly, live life, like it’s my last
My clip might blast, I’m in my bag
