Dawggy Lyrics – Real Boston Richey
Singer: Real Boston Richey
Title: Dawggy
Yeah
(Ayy, 40, what that is?)
You got that?
Load ’em more, that n#gg# think I got like eight in this b#tch
These Cubans on my next bussed up dawgy
I can’t drive the work but I can get ’em to Uhaul it
That n#gg# say he got one-fifty, damn he think that’s ballin’
That n#gg# trippin’, I can hit the crib, get seven-fifty up out my closet
They sh#tted on me now that sh#t gon’ cost ’em
I ever hit a lick or runnin’ down I’m takin’ all it
The headlights on the Benz look like frog eye when it foggy
Front my friends, Perc’ Tens, ain’t never ball-hogging
That lil’ b#tch be Perkin’, why you think that I be stallin’?
‘Cause I don’t f#ck wit you
Girlfriend turned to my baby mama, so, now, I’m stuck wit’ you
Yo’ n#gg# ain’t even worth a fifty, I’m just being a buck wit’ you
Yo’ p#ss# good, why the f#ck you think I still put up wit’ you?
I be trapping Bubba plates, don’t f#ck wit’ no dog food
And I sold more bricks then yo’ brother, and yo’ dawg too
I feel like Ross, this b#tch here super thick, she twenty-two
We slide twenty-two, we in room two-hundred and two
Birds go for thirty-two
I’m way to P, I give her way more pleasure then baby blue
When I’m talkin’ trappin’, I’m talkin’ servin’ them bases too
When I’m talkin’ smackin’, I’m talkin’ ’bout gettin’ active too
These Cubans on my next bussed up dawgy
I can’t drive the work but I can get ’em to Uhaul it
That n#gg# say he got one-fifty, damn he think that’s ballin’
That n#gg# trippin’, I can hit the crib, get seven-fifty up out my closet
They sh#tted on me now that sh#t gon’ cost ’em
I ever hit a lick or runnin’ down I’m takin’ all it
The headlights on the Benz look like frog eye when it foggy
In front my friends, Perc’ Tens, ain’t never ball-hogging
I might just buy AMG Benz come through, I’m a dawgy
“How much of my love do you want?” b#tch, I want all of it
Out here dodgin’ all the bad cops, feel like Mike Lowry
If I ever hit the county, n#gg#, I ain’t doin’ no talkin’
I ain’t do no talkin’, n#gg#, I just sell white
But my dawg Dwight just say he finna teach me how to swipe
Sendin’ K2 to my dawg behind the wall through a kite
Lead the stud drive the bricks, ’cause n#gg#s don’t ever rob dikes
Alright n#gg#
Bring a f#cking gun, don’t bring no knife, n#gg#
We don’t bring no dope in through no flights
I spend everything from chef up to the vice
And I rob and trap before I go and hit a heist (Yeah)
These Cubans on my next bussed up dawgy
I can’t drive the work but I can get ’em to Uhaul it
That n#gg# say he got one-fifty, damn he think that’s ballin’
That n#gg# trippin’, I can hit the crib, get seven-fifty up out my closet
They sh#tted on me now that sh#t gon’ cost ’em
I ever hit a lick or runnin’ down I’m takin’ all it
The headlights on the Benz look like frog eye when it foggy
Front my friends, Perc’ Tens, ain’t never ball-hogging
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Lyrics Real Boston Richey – Dawggy
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