lirik lagu dave east – red bottoms
[hook 1]
(yea! uh)
my b-tch addicted to red bottoms (red bottoms!)
point him out, my youngin head shot him (prrrrr!)
come from the block, now we’re headlining (the block!)
my phone off, they think the feds got him (h-llo?)
my b-tch addicted to red bottoms (uh!)
point him out, my youngin head shot him (you see him!)
come from the block, now we’re headlining (from the block!)
my phone off, they think the feds got him (ah!)
they think the feds got him
my phone off, they think the feds got him
my b-tch addicted to red bottoms (aww yea!)
point him out, my youngin head shot him (pow!)
they think the feds got him
my phone off, they think the feds got him (the feds got him)
come from the block, now we’re headlining (from the block!)
point him out, my youngin head shot him
[verse 1]
like earl manigault, the block’s jumping
you was soft, getting money made you stop pumping (stop that, my n-gga)
quarter pound, broke it down, i supply onions (some os!)
they ’ll never have your back, probably die fronting
me and rico, that’s a kilo! (rico!)
sliding through the heights, me, gutter, mac and lethal (uh)
black balenciagas, hundred dollars on the free throw
summertime indictment, get excited, i’m ‘a reload {rrraaa!)
you ain’t never came up in the gutter
everybody selling b-tter and them snitches undercover (uh!)
locos trapping out of {bleep} spot on the ds
it don’t matter, summer, spring or winter, n-gga we fresh
got a couple dollars, told my jeweler i’m ‘a holler
radio copped the impala, make my pound, like he eat’s next
yacht master rollie, my youngins’ll take your arm for it
p-ssed it to my shooter, he ain’t even have to call for it
that money, n-gga we all for it
any gun you want on deck, just make a call for it (any gun!)
on the block, posted like a small forward (posted!)
i be exciting my women, your b-tches all bored (hah!)
we was into moving powder like a chalkboard {sniff}
i’m trying to park maseratis while you park fords (errrr!)
you was cutting up your work, we gave ’em all raw
knocking off this pack of molly, rocking tom fords (ah!)
[hook 2]
my b-tch addicted to red bottoms (red bottoms!)
point him out, my youngin head shot him (prrrrr!)
come from the block, now we’re headlining (from the block!)
my phone off, they think the feds got him (h-llo?)
my b-tch addicted to red bottoms (christians!)
point him out, my youngin head shot him (head shot!)
come from the block, now we’re headlining (eastside!)
my phone off, they think the feds got him (no!)
they think the feds got him
my phone off, they think the feds got him
my b-tch addicted to red bottoms (bottoms!)
point him out, my youngin head shot him (prrrrrrr!)
they think the feds got him (no!)
my phone off, they think the feds got him
come from the block, now we’re headlining (from the block!)
point him out, my youngin head shot him (blah!)
[verse 2]
i’ve seen that angel dust leave the block naked (b-tt naked!)
surround sound through your town, drop’s vibrating (ugh!)
i was born with it, you ain’t got it, pro’ly die hating (hah!)
summer time, lenox ave, pro’ly tri-state him (uptown!)
them b-tches wanna f-ck, i’m thinking “why date ’em?” (why?)
pounds flip, i’m with my brown b-tch, so now i laid the (uh!)
penthouse up in the clouds, sh-t’s skyscr-ping
feds got the block baking, paper i can’t stop chasing
cocaine cooking, kitchen smelling like bleach (woo!)
every block i go, these n-ggas tell me i’m the streets (gotti!)
sipping margheritas with a diva on the beach
love static, catch him naked in traffic, i’ll feel like reese (bang!)
denim & supply, i’ve been in the dope spot
fiends nodding, knocking stevie ribbon in the sky (ah!)
woke up with your b-tch, she let me hit it from the side
conversating with my loc, he said he cripping ‘til he dies (loc!)
bury n-ggas alive like pesci and his brother (uh!)
middle of the desert, send that picture to their mother
i was young thugging ‘fore i heard of danny glover
oil’s burning, i can smell it, f-ck breakfast, we’ve got b-tter
two b-tches from texas in a lexus, me and b-tter
that’s my queens n-gga, treat my momma like his mother
flagrant -ss rappers, most these n-ggas undercover
pillow talking to them b-tches ‘til them n-ggas under covers
(light it!)
[hook 3]
my b-tch addicted to red bottoms (red bottoms!)
point him out, my youngin head shot him (line ‘im!)
come from the block, now we’re headlining (yea!)
my phone off, they think the feds got him (h-llo?)
my b-tch addicted to red bottoms (red bottoms!)
point him out, my youngin head shot him (all them!)
come from the block, now we’re headlining (from the block!)
my phone off, they think the feds got him (h-llo?)
they think the feds got him
my phone off, they think the feds got him
my b-tch addicted to red bottoms
point him out, my youngin head shot him
they think the feds got him
my phone off, they think the feds got him
come from the block, now we’re headlining
point him out, my youngin head shot him
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