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lirik lagu bub styles - dope smokers anonymous

[intro: baker mta]

yo, what’s up, man?
yo, i had a tag here, bro. i’m fixin’ my sh~t
here, get me right here
yo, you heard? i had a tag right here
yo, for real, holmes?
yeah, for real, pa. i had a tag here
my best friend had a tag here, too
f~ckin’ suck a d~ck
throwin’ over real graffiti with your f~ckin’ street art bullsh~t
f~ck outta here, n~gga
you wanna throw down, n~gga?
welcome to brooklyn, n~gga

[verse 1: bub styles]

go!
my drug dealer got a quarter million in femo dollars
i remember holdin’ folds of bills in low pajamas
in the lower nose, poundin’, holdin’ empanadas
beat the block and let the tempo guide us
duckin’ slow impalas
spark the dope in snowy climates
diamonds make the rollie timeless
got my b~tch silk and flowy garments
every rapper makin’ trolly comments
jewish but the flow ebonics
you was never livin’ by the code, be honest
carve a mil, dip the veal up in the gremolata
you broke a hundred miles an hour
but you sayin’ nada, huh
another humble brag is potty done
300 physical, you never seen a poppy run
unless the shotty rung
trumped up and pumpin’ on the corner with my bump ‘n grind
your shorty hit the dutty wine
it’s only back shots
her face look like busta rhymes
sh~t remind me of the dusted times
word up (word up!)
[hook: bub styles & estee nack]

50 bands off the stoop, dog (50 off the stoop)
100 grams in the hoop, dog (100 in the panels)
dope smokers anonymous (smokin’ out here, sh~t)
you f~ckin’ with the grimeiest (grimeiest in the city)
50 bands off the stoop, dog. (that’s 50, for real)
hundred grams in the hoop, dog (i smoked half of this sh~t)
dope smokers anonymous
yo, yo, yo
my grime be the timliest (ohhh!)

[verse 2: estee nack]

ayo son
nicaragua, fish grease
turn a rap n~gga to mincemeat
it’s p~ssy water on the bench seats
and when i’m with your b~tch, n~gga
her waist be movin’ like i’m elvis presley
i f~cked her good, she had to tell her bestie (adlib)
my ice skatin’ like gretzky
you can tell i’m a higher rank (general!)
i’m in medina, smokin’ fire dank (fire!)
what’s today’s math?
in fact, i see today’s the grease hunt
the victim, you will hate to be one
and yo, i’m wide awake
three guns, you waitin’ on the victim
ain’t no snitchin’, we get penciled
we take it on the wrist
and yo, we got powder and bundles shakin’ on the strip (money!)
it’s after three in the mornin’, i’m breakin’ on the b~tch
dow jones droppin’, but in the hood, it’s a non~factor (for real!)
press a finger in the compactor
don’t f~ck with the wrong rapper (f~ck wit!)
get large and i’m dischargin’ the firearm match (f~ck yeah)
put you in the hole like saddam capture (ohhhh!)
[hook: bub styles]

- lirik lagu bub styles

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