Текст YFN Lucci – Hit ‘Em Up

(Think it’s a game?)
(Yeah, aye, ugh, ugh, look)

Hit ’em up, hit ’em up, hit ’em up, hit ’em up
Don’t make me broad day ’em

I been playin’ kibbies
Feed ’em to my man
I hope my man eat ’em, huh
Come holla at ya mans
I got them things cheaper, huh
We got off-white, tan, Molly, for the giggles
Aye, Rollie on me freezing
Dolce jersey, Derek Jeter
Two sticks and one Desert Eagle
Can’t find you, we get your people
Them was for my dead people
I see dead people
I got a closet full of nothin’ but old dead people
I got some problems
I take my problems out on their people
I got no problem with shootin’ it out
I don’t give no damn
I got no problem with shootin’ it out
I don’t give no damn
I got a whole 100 rounds
And I pray it don’t jam (Yeah)

Hit ’em up, hit ’em up, hit ’em up, hit ’em up

Put 1 karat in my nose
3 karats in the ear
If I put like 6 karats on him, he gon’ disappear
I’m givin’ out, I’m sendin’ out gifts
Sendin’ moms an ear
We maskin’ up like it’s Halloween
Every day of the year
I’m comin’ off the hip
You know, we’ll toss the shrimp
We eat lobster, lot of pasta, real mobster, them
You know my pop’s a pimp
You know my mom’s like Brazil
Got a crib in Austell
And it’s only for the mail, and
I be high as hell
I could probably smoke a bale (Say ooh)
You know that runch, it’s got a different smell
Leave him there, let him smell
Never ever leave a trail (Fuck nigga)
He ain’t get a chance to tell (Aye pussy nigga)

‘Cause I just hit ’em up, hit ’em up, hit ’em up, hit ’em up
Don’t make me broad day ’em
Don’t make me broad day ’em
Hit ’em up, hit ’em up, hit ’em up, hit ’em up
They ain’t gonna make me broad day ’em
They ain’t gonna make me broad day ’em