Lyrics Young Dolph – A–Plus (Remix)
Text:
A-Plus
Thug nigga get your cake up
We’re smokin’ on that A-Plus
Uuuuh, uuuuh…
Yeah, it’s Dolph
I’m flyin’ through the city in a 2 seater
Runnin’ red lights pourin’ up syrup
Thick bitch with me poppin’ pain killers
I’m smokin’ loud A.K.A. that brain killer
Bought a house in the hood to sell kush there
Five Franklyns for my Prada footwear
My family infested with dope fiends
Guess it run in my jeans cause I’m sprung on Codeine
The bad bitches show me love, the broke niggas hatin’
Snitches tellin’ on me got the Feds investigatin’
The illest nigga in my city nigga, straight up
These lil’ niggas midgrade, Dolph A-Plus
Hook:
First thing first when I wake up (What you do?)
I brush my teeth and roll a blunt of A-Plus
Plus you sold Kush he make you wanna lay us
I told lil’ mama, bitch you got that A-Plus (A-Plus)
A-Plus (A-Plus), A-Plus
She off the chain with it, I gave her a A-Plus (A-Plus)
A-Plus (A-Plus), A-Plus
I pull up with the calculator, I’m servin’ A-Plus
Gucci Mane:
Since a pup, I been running with them thug niggas
From the 6, it’s a land full of drug dealers
Fuck a entourage — bricks all on my bus, nigga
I bought a mansion in the hills to hide dope there
I love sun valley, but there really ain’t no hope there
I bought a condo and I do not have no clothes there
We don’t fuck hoes there, don’t do nothing but cook O’s there
Seventeen years old, and I got ho fair
Police catch me, they gonna strap me to that old chair
I’m paying twelve, ’bout to sweep it under the rug, nigga
Looking at the mirror, looking at the pub, nigga
Hook
I called my plug and spent a hundred on some A-Plus
My bitch one hundred, that mean she A-Plus
Gave her a stack just for her weave and her make-up
She quick to tell a fuck nigga, get your cake up
Who the fuck you think she got it from? She Dolph girl
I’m counting money while she loading up the Mossberg
Seventy racks on my old-school, got a Challenger on my left wrist
Everything I got came from me pumping A-Plus in South Memphis
Y’all know how I get down
In the trap going pound for pound
I got a little toy that hold a hundred rounds
Dolce belt, Gucci shirt, and a stupid-ass pair of D squares
I’m mismatching, but what the hell?
I’m in Ruth’s Chris with your man there
Hook