Lyrics Waka Flocka Flame – Season
Text:
Every time, every time, hit ’em back to back
Hah, boom, hahahaha
Let’s take ’em to the island
Hoodrich, bitch
I ain’t seen ’em
Close the door, nigga
Prince Ink, Rico Cash
Hoodrich, bitch
(You ain’t gang, you a lame
You ain’t gang, you a lame)
We fronted that boy that pack
Damn, we ain’t even seen him
It’s been two weeks on that body
I heard they just ID’d him
In my neighborhood, it’s killer season
Nigga walk around clutchin’ they heaters
Get that L off your chest if you need to
If I piece you up, nigga, I’ma eat you
Ayy, yo, Big Tiny, bring that shit back, nigga
Every time, every time, hit ’em back to back
Hah, boom, hahahaha (Brick Squad)
I ain’t seen ’em (Trapaholics mixtapes)
Close the door, nigga
(You ain’t gang, you a lame
You ain’t gang, you a lame)
We fronted that boy that pack
Damn, we ain’t even seen him
It’s been two weeks on that body
I heard they just ID’d him
Nigga walk around clutchin’ they heaters
Get that L off your chest if you need to
If I piece you up, nigga, I’ma eat you
Put that on my mama, that Coretha
With them weapons, I swear that I’m lethal
Boy, that fire on me like a beeper
Got that silencer on me, I’ll bleep ’em
Hmm, mute somethin’ for you dumb niggas
I’ll shoot somethin’, look at run, nigga
Gun you down just for fun, nigga
Hundred rounds, nigga, shoot somethin’, pussy
Sprayed your mama house, you ain’t do nothin’
Hundred niggas with me and they all gunnin’
We the run down boys, nigga, we ain’t runnin’
Pull up with niggas with heaters
My niggas stay hungry, we eat ’em
We straight out the jungle like zebras
And spot your ass up like a cheetah
I serve the bricks, fuck a feature
Still scraping dope out the beaker
Had a diamondback with no kickback
Walker ass, they ain’t seen him
They gon’ gun you down, nigga gon’ hunt you down
You get money now, we get them hundreds now
I was trappin’ back then and I’m trappin’ now
Got this shit on your card, we gon’ track you down
Pull up on your bitch ass with a hundred rounds
Make your bitch bring that sack, we don’t fuck around
Put the silencer on it, don’t make a sound
When I hit your bitch ass, it go bah-bah-bah
Hundred rounds, nigga, shoot somethin’
Sprayed your mama house, you ain’t do nothin’
Hundred niggas with me and they all gunnin’ (Hoodrich, bitch)
We the run down boys, nigga, we ain’t runnin’
35k for a thousand eight grams
55k if you wanna see me on stage goin’ HAM
Trap money, bitch, rap money
I’ma mix it up and make more money
Trap money with the rap money
I’ma mix it up and make more money for my niggas
I’m gunning, I’m riding, I’m riding, I’m gunning
Running and ducking, I thought y’all was gangster
I will not serve you if you not a banger
I made a million with molly, I ain’t talking drugs
Grew up on Grove where they’re slanging iron
If you want a name, gotta spill blood, on Piru
Hundred rounds, nigga, shoot somethin’
Sprayed your mama house, you ain’t do nothin’
Hundred niggas with me and they all gunnin’
We the run down boys, nigga, we ain’t runnin’
Volume 6
We did this shit for the streets, for the hood
For them niggas behind them walls, nigga
Hoodrich, bitch
Real trap shit
