Freck Billionaire - Goin In lyrics

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Freck Billionaire - Goin In lyrics

[Verse 1: Freck Billionaire] Street fam Freck, b**hes want their memberships I hit the first night, and then I can't remember sh** Oh yeah, except for that I crushed her friend I blow a hundred stacks quicker than a gust of wind Been on the back streets way before Nick Carter I use the armor hammer just to make the brick harder You see, I can get you d** galore My name alone got pull like tug of war Talking more pull than tow away I get your block sprayed up with the throw away Got plenty cash to blow away That's why they see me on them boats like a stowaway Any club I come to, b**h, I bring G's I stay peeling on them hoes, like string cheese New tourbillion looking real fancy I just wear it to let the haters and the fans see Ask A. Rod he a tell you who the top paid I can't drive it in the rain, the top suede I still got an open bounty I say OC, I don't mean Ocean County Occis X you know I get them Sanex in West Philly get you peeled like banana skin I throw my man a hand sign like he deaf-mute I bet he won't even blink, he a just shoot Two or three weeks later they a find the body So I ride with two K's like kamikaze And I ain't scared to let the rifle bang b**h, I let it bang like rival gangs Don't get it twisted, nah, I don't wear a flag But disrespect me and your toe will wear a tag I'm a CBL street family dude Got the clips loaded, b**h, bring the family feud Y'all know who it is, n***a Mr. Fresher than the prince, n***a I was rocking that Gucci when y'all was rockin that Guess sh**, n***a I been doin this, n***a, c'mon [Verse 2: Freck Billionaire] Look, look, ey look Nowadays see I'm careful when I but weight They got the cameras on my team like Spygate Eleven rings like Bill Russell The top question: Freck, why do you still hustle? First I say, I let you count the sheet, n***a Then I tell em, all this Gucci ain't cheap, n***a Just ‘cause you probably seen me on the YouTube Don't get it twisted, I'm nothing like you dudes I will have the car circling Thirty shots ‘ll smoke you like turkey wings For every one shot, it'll leave two holes You have a tag on your toe like new clothes A street fam boy strapped like straitjackets See something that they like and just straight jack it So either way you in a lose-lose Six pallbearers, a bunch of boo-hoo's Got the young hustlers rushing like Klitschko West Philly, you know I got them bricks low And when I say the low's I don't mean the telly I keep that Louis on my back, but my name ain't Nelly