Pooh Shiesty - Still On Timing (with Lyrics & Subtitles)
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Pooh Shiesty - Still On Timing (en) Lyrics
by RentAnAdviser.com
Nigga, see
This why I poured up here
really standin' up
This that, this that shit right here
They tell you to stand up rappin'
this shit right here
Back on that time, nigga,
pay attention, nigga
Yeah, man
Comin' to a city near you
with this shit, man
Where you at? Pop out, nigga
(Once again, I'm locked in with
TP, we finna make a hit)
Ayy, ayy, I'm back on that timin'
My third weekend out the feds,
I bet shit get to dyin'
I'm South Memphis menace, I
make the murder rate rise
Binary triggers, AR pistol,
this bitch double-firin'
Why I keep double-fi
I lost my mind, I'm to the face
tryna shoot out the road
I get mad all over again
seein' my bullet holes
I took two different same
clothes, same pole
I took two different souls,
same clothes, same pole
I just burnt up my Infiniti,
jumped in my Bentley
Me and Hank alone up in the
car, that's double digits
You tryna live what you rappin',
I'm rappin' how I'm livin'
I'm just recitin' what the feds told
the judge up in my sentencin'
Time to mash your gas
You ain't shot no nigga in three years,
burn up your shiesty mask
Ain't got no hustle, all my niggas
tryna smash for cash
Twenty extended mags
Limo tint on CPN, strikers,
dealer tags
Ayy, I'm still on that timin'
My first weekend out the feds,
I bet shit get to dyin'
Why I keep double-firin'?
Ayy, I lost my mind, I'm to the
face tryna shoot out the road
I took two different souls, same
clothes, same pole, on gang
On gang 'nem, nigga, blrrrd
On gang and them, blrrrd, blrrrd
Ayy, I'm back on the road
We caught him in his favorite outfit
and folded his clothes
Don't ask me how much on my neck,
it worth three hundred 'bows
A lot of niggas ain't even slime,
but they still wipe they nose
And get treated like hoes, ayy
My chain white and rose, but
this Patek all gold, ayy
Put some miles on that Hellcat,
no Sprinters at the shows, ayy
Project baby, threw a hundred
up at Classic Soulz
Done sobered up, still crack a four,
but I ain't gon' pour no more
Ain't no more pourin' no Tris, that's
a hundred million, that wrist
Salt-droppin' on Thirtball, coincidentally
fucked his bitch
And we 3-7, don't compare
Choppa Gang to 3-6
Send shit to Heaven, fully Blackout
left him in a ditch
And fuck your gang, don't throw that
shit up 'less you drop your wrist
We block shit off when we in traffic,
Draco stompin' shit
Got some head from a chocolate bitch,
turnt her up on some Choppa shit
Want smoke, we got a lot of it and
more shots than a doctor, bitch
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PATREON Thank you!