Young Scooter - The Recipe lyrics

Published

0 376 0

Young Scooter - The Recipe lyrics

[Hook: Young Scooter] All you p**y n***as coppin' pleas Like you convicted a felony You lil n***as ain't beefin' ‘bout money You might as well call off all beefs Turn fifty to 200 Gs b**h I got the recipe Black Amigo, we speak guapanese You can hate but ain't gon' f** with me [Verse 1: Young Scooter] You gotta watch who you sell that dope Because these p**y n***as coppin' pleas I do what the f** I want, b**h I'm a street lottery Trap runnin' like 24, we got indoors, we got outdoors We take a week to sell 20 pounds But f** n***a your trap slow I got truckloads like Costco I got tons of gas like Texaco Hundred real n***as ‘round me From Edgewood to Lil Mexico Trap house with no doors A couple mill out the dope bowl I see through these fake a** n***as And no I do not trust hoes You n***as ain't beefin' ‘bout money You n***as rather beef ‘bout a b**h [Hook: Young Scooter] All you p**y n***as coppin' pleas Like you convicted a felony You lil n***as ain't beefin' ‘bout money You might as well call off all beefs Turn fifty to 200 Gs b**h I got the recipe Black Amigo, we speak guapanese You can hate but ain't gon' f** with me [Verse 2: Jose Guapo] I got to ride with the rifle I got to ride with the bible I got to keep it beside me I got to keep it beside me I got a book bag beside me It got a QP inside it I'ma hit hard when we [?] Young Guapo might start up a riot We did this sh** for the streets I count up the money with street Young Guapo don't f** with you creeps Get it back in every week n***as been callin' off beef Talkin' ‘bout 200 to 3 We know you gon' cop a plea You was never in the streets Don't know you, I speak guapanese We want them pints and them Ps [?] Hendrix with me Got too much money on me Smoke on that reefer and choke Scooter just got off a boat Got shooters you know that they toke Young Guapo, I'm far from a ho [Hook: Young Scooter] All you p**y n***as coppin' pleas Like you convicted a felony You lil n***as ain't beefin' ‘bout money You might as well call off all beefs Turn fifty to 200 Gs b**h I got the recipe Black Amigo, we speak guapanese You can hate but ain't gon' f** with me