Tracy T - Shhh (Remix) lyrics

[Intro: Rick Ross] All I ever wanted was a kilo Till they my little n***a with the rico Fat Trel, Maybach Murda Gang Mastermind, double M [Verse 1: Fat Trel] n***a tell me how you want it with a savage It get crazy where I'm living it's tragic If you can take it from my pocket you can have it You know I got a body bag in the trash You know I got an old thot you can have n***a couldn't f** my old b**h n***as couldn't eat my old p**y I'm in the kitchen I could tell you how the stove looking n***a all I really wanted was the pyrex A couple hundred body snatchers in the projects You know my plug stay connected like direct I'm in Miami my b**hes like "where Lebron at?" I finish f**ing her [?] like "where your mom at?" In front the coppers I got choppers for the combat Couldn't believe it my n***as say he was sellin' grenades Keep bullsh**tin' and ima sit you where the bomb at D.C. n***a, sittin wrist whip dough He ain't know a chopper price get this low See I cop em' in Atlanta bring em' back to Alabama Avenue And tell them n***as "come and get it let's go" Fifty in the Mac take em' back to Benning Road Strippa b**hes in my kitchen with the semi's on the floor All I know I want him dead by tonight With his head in his lap and his body at the light Purchase me some Act and I'm a pour me some Sprite Tell a b**h keep counting till she get the count right When a b**h finish might purchase her a flight Might take her whole life Might f** her all night Right, you know I hate to say it twice But you p**y a** n***as ain't bout that life p**y a** n***as ain't bout that life p**y a** n***as ain't bout that life [Hook] Talking 'bout you popping tags, n***a you ain't bought sh** Talking bout a hunned bottles, n***a you ain't popped sh** All you talk nana clips, n***a you ain't shot sh** Spending money on these hoes, n***a you ain't f** sh** [Verse 2: Tracy T] My k**as got shooters on shooters (3x) Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Knock em down hundred rounds, lotta pounds, kilograms on the ave How you want it? Quarter thang, half thang, whole slab? Young Atlanta n***a pull a hammer on ya Pull up on a n***a in a California Teach a lame how to flip a couple numbers Whole summer dope runners getting more commers Money got me geekin', damn I need more Alejandro bringin' in them truckloads Copy that, get racks, n***a ten-four Choppa bullets just rip a n***a head off Clip long as a little n***a leg dawg Empty that and the barrel just smoke Closed casket, n***a head open Peel the top back, yeah I'm in the foreign Wide body and it sittin' on Forgies Choppa kick like Chuck Norris Ralph Lauren, my engine full of horses Aim game insane n***a I'm a marksman Cocaine white y'all n***as flip porcelain Blow worth a fortune, million on the fortress n***as totin' AK's like they Glock 40's [Hook] Talking 'bout you popping tags, n***a you ain't bought sh** Talking bout a hunned bottles, n***a you ain't popped sh** All you talk nana clips, n***a you ain't shot sh** Spending money on these hoes, n***a you ain't f** sh** [Verse 3: Meek Mill] Thirty in the clip catch the whole thing Feds know a n***a by his whole name Shoot him in his head for his gold chain You was running ball, we was sellin' c**aine Talkin bout you buyin' bricks, n***a you ain't got sh** We was sellin' all them keys, we was like the locksmith Twenty-Five hundred for the red bottoms Balmain five bands for the waist n***a I'm rollin' through my city in a new Rolls Royce Cheif Keef 300 for the Wraith n***a A.K, S.K, H.K n***a, three K's like I hate n***as And I'll put you in your place n***a You got shoebox money I got a safe n***a holdup [Hook] Talking 'bout you popping tags, n***a you ain't bought sh** Talking bout a hunned bottles, n***a you ain't popped sh** All you talk nana clips, n***a you ain't shot sh** Spending money on these hoes, n***a you ain't f** sh** [Verse 4: Rick Ross] Automatic pistol on a n***a leather seat See a bad b**h she my jam of the week All I ever wanted was a kilo Till they hit my little n***a with the RICO b**hes lookin' at me, Keisha look at all this change It's the heart of war tour bus full of K's Master P money I could pull up in a tank C Murda shooter know a pill on the way Still [?] Rich n***as coming through you broke n***as better move At your front door got word you got work 3.5 for the key of the purp Now six figures for this fat n***as verse All eyes on me as I'm walking through the church Prayin' lord forgive me, 30 shots in the semi I done payed all of my ties now it's time to go and get it My new plug don't f** with the cut My new b**h gettin' f**ed in the bu*t Ridin' by the [?] see me sitting in the trunk n***as say they coming threw but they see me strapped up, what n***a runnin' in your house for the brown bag Feds wanna know how much in the brown bag n***a swinging that stick for the brown bag Your b**h even saw my number on the brown bag All I ever wanted was a Kilo Till they end my little war with the Regal Sippin' on purp n***as still got a pint Still movin' work work n***a ooh what a night Ooh what a night, ooh what a night If it was a picture of that p**y it'd get 200 likes Get 200 likes, all that b**h gettin' from me is 200 likes [Hook] Talking 'bout you popping tags, n***a you ain't bought sh** Talking bout a hunned bottles, n***a you ain't popped sh** All you talk nana clips, n***a you ain't shot sh** Spending money on these hoes, n***a you ain't f** sh**