223’s Lyrics – Midwxst
Singer: Midwxst
Title: 223’s
(Enrgy made this one)
Do you hear that? (aldn)
That’s—, that’s what real n#gg#s sound like
Yeah, I got him mad, look at his face, he look like Darth Maul
Ringing up my brothers, I’m the one that made them shots call
Gettin’ paper, it stay in my hands, I feel like St. Paul
Said he wouldn’t tell and then he did, and that’s his damn fault
My money on the Eiffel Tower, b#tch, you know it stand tall
Been off of my phone, get in that bag, b#tch, I don’t need calls
If I ain’t make like 5K in a day, b#tch, I get withdrawals
n#gg#s tried to hold me down, well, now they got me pissed off
Know some brothers that do drills, and they don’t do construction
I know some brothers with them sticks, and they don’t play percussion
My brodie, shh, he keep that ‘K and it might get to bustin’
You f#ck with gang, I hope you know you suffer repercussions
My pens and words are f#cking weapons of damn mass destruction
Run in that show and made it jump, them b#tches double-dutchin’
My brodie really keep that ‘K, and he not even Russian
I’m in his city tryna slide, but I know that he ducking
Man, got me pissed off
One hand up on the trigger, ready right to let that b#tch off
Word to my boy Chris, that chopper made him dance like TikTok
Casio up on my wrist, might go bust down the G-Shock
Brodie keep that .19 on, he ride ’round with that G-lock
What they say? They spot ’em, then they got ’em, made him beatbox
Latina girls in my DM’s, got me a mamacita
If you had the life I’m livin’, this sh#t loco, Mamma Mia (Ooh)
Talk about my brothers and my family, we shoot from the paint
Hooded up, black fit on my body like Kevin Durant
I ain’t perfect, I done did some sh#t, b#tch, I am not a Saint
Lost some brothers on the f#ckin’ way and that sh#t brought me pain
Bail out any of my brothers or the f#cking gang
Steppin’ on me, I know no n#gg#s gon’ tuck the chain
The hardest that’s comin out of Indi’, you gon’ know the name
Told brodie, “Kick the cup,” but he can’t stop sippin’ up on the drank
Hands on, I’m the type to pick the soccer ball up
Hop out and walk ’em down, we finna pop ’em all up (Brrt)
Sick, he think he shiny, he done went and copped some Palm Buffs (b#tch)
Face card scorchin’, I don’t really shop at malls much (Woo)
Ha-ha, look, hot as f#ck like I’m stuck in the microwave (Damn)
Finna maximize the hit with this micro ‘K (Brrt)
Tryna hit the top, you gon’ have to fight your way (Where?)
Tie him up and leave his body, sh#t, the psycho way
Tryna check this profile credit, what Geico say? (What?)
You ain’t tough, snatch your wood, then light your way
Lil’ pups aim for your ankles, we gon’ bite your face
Yeah, with these 223’s (Brrt)
Grab the V’s back to back, you know these ain’t no Jubilees (Yeah)
Tryna race with Mr. Vroomie-Zoom, I guess that you will see
That you can’t catch up
You sippin’ Jabba the Hutt, I got a red cup, no cap
Yeah, I got him mad, look at his face, he look like Darth Maul
Ringing up my brothers, I’m the one that made them shots call
Gettin’ paper, it stay in my hands, I feel like St. Paul
Said he wouldn’t tell and then he did, and that’s his damn fault
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Lyrics Midwxst – 223’s
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