Biggs Out Lyrics – BabyTron, BandGang Biggs
Singer: BabyTron, BandGang Biggs
Title: Biggs Out
Ayy, yeah, come on [I just walked in too, n#gg#
It’s G.T., n#gg# [This sh#t off the dome, n#gg#
Ayy, n#gg#, what up? [Let’s get this sh#t in, n#gg#
Ayy, n#gg# [Big songs, n#gg#, let’s go
Ayy
I heard they let Biggs out
Call bring the BINs out
Whip so fast, tap it and it spin out
I remember they was young as hell, n#gg# whip a ten out
True Religion n#gg#, at yo b#tch house
White, n#gg#, let me get it in
Flowing when I stop, they spin
Next week probably in Miami in a
I ain’t even got no beef, all the opps dead
Come through all black but the guts red
Bro, I only call yo b#tch when I want head
And if you ever think we sweet, you gon’ catch lead
Could’ve jumped in the ‘Cat but I took the Benz
Buffs cost four flat, that’s without the lens
Y’all n#gg#s bunch of followers and we set the trend
On the East I just caught a play, where the f#ck is G.T.?
Spin yo block like a record or a CD
Coming back to back like that Drake song but I ain’t sign nothing
Chopstick flip the crib, tryna rewind something
Ice on, stomp yo head in, I catch you eyeing something
Chase you down on the freeway, we on the lodge busting
Ham called me tryna buy a pint, I sold him Robitussin
We got a problem? Ain’t no talking, it ain’t no discussion
Dropped a diss song? I dropped a chain, I don’t battle rap
Account with the pin, this sh#t easy, catching Apple jacks
When I grab my punch off the site, I’m attacking Saks
Driving off the Wock’ wasn’t smart, I done crashed the Scat
We’ll send him to the moon, the chop came with NASA blast
Punching up a card, told my b#tch keep the door close
You got that one whip, that b#tch don’t even got no sports mode
He thought he caught me slipping, whole time I had the torch though
Another four pore, f#ck around and get my snore on
We in this b#tch busting down keep the door closed
Hit a n#gg# block, hundred shots, it’s for closure
We don’t know you, tryna come and shop then I’m getting over
Free smoke, inhaling everything, you know we keep them blowers
Wake up, drop a eight in this pop, I hate being sober
Quick to grab the chop or the Glock and get sh#t in motion
Them bows in, touching down to ’em, get ’em straight from Oakland
Them hoes in, just to f#ck this b#tch, gotta give up tokens
Ayy, if I step foot in Meijer’s then you know I’m giffy grabbing
f#ck around, throw the blick to Tron, I might have Jimmy wack ’em
I can’t take the gang to no occasion, they get blicky active
Born a GOAT, I might be Stan but, b#tch, I’m Billy actually
Took the chop to Dr. Miami, it got some t#tt#es on it
Only ride with G’s in my unit, feel like I’m 50 on ’em
Pistol poking through the ‘Miri jeans, I got the blicky on me
Off-White with the camouflage, I got a ghillie on me
Huh, yeah
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Lyrics BabyTron, BandGang Biggs – Biggs Out
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