Freddie Gibbs - Tim Westwood Crib Session Freestyle lyrics

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Freddie Gibbs - Tim Westwood Crib Session Freestyle lyrics

[Verse 1: Freddie Gibbs] I'm a cold motherf**er with the sh** Dump a ice bucket on my wrist She ain't f**in' I ain't f**in' with the b**h I remember when I used to hit the cluckers with the whip 4 a.m. I got a kitchen full of customers and sh** Got 'em beamin' up the scotty Freddie bout to throw a powder party Forgiatos on that four-door Maserati Got that Cutla** 442 It sound like Nascar when you start it b**h don't play I pull that trigger like Carmelo at the garden What you know about it? Robbin' for the powder 100 in the trunk I bet you all them b**hes solid 7 Series BM, I got all these b**hes flockin' Plan to get this sh** legit I know the county's gonna be watchin' Bumpin' 40 with my 40. caliber I'm on my J.O And I hope I don't go back to slangin' yayo for my mayo But f** it though, my youngin' threw some stacks out on the table Said that birdie thang' could go for 40 tre but that's o.k. though Let my tombstone quote Motherf** bein' broke So bury me with 20, 30 k and somethin' to smoke Tell em' f** a eulogy just read some gutter sh** I wrote Pour some henny on the corner, roll a blunt and make a toast To a real n***a, Trill n***a' Still thuggin' in the field with ya' My little n***as they be up and skippin' cla** in the mornin' Kush pack blowin' Gonna smoke him and his homie, bought em' all a pair of Jordan's And I'm living like a Eastside Rider, Straight grinder I know n***as with the 5 pack of white china And it's hard to do the rappin', leave this life behind ya' When i'm countin' up 100 k on my recliner Lazy-boy, Praise this boy Gary street's couldn't plague this boy Made this boy Do some cold things for a dollar Take a n***a' for ransom, He in the trunk of my Impala For the blocka blocka All my noccas chillin' in the 6 Bumpin' that Cali Ice Bucket Challenge on my wrist Thuggin', Black in the U.S. it's a challenge to exist Stove 1000 degrees, Imma' graduate to a brick I be gradually gettin' chips All my smokers coppin' the pack of that package If you can move it I give you points on the pack, n***a' Gangsta Gibbs baby ahaha Westwood we in this thang' mayne'!