Me OK Songtext
von Gucci Mane

I′mma keep it street, choppa on the seat
Spray 'em from across, Gucci Mane, I′m boss
What ya got to prove? My young niggas shoot
Let me introduce myself - I'm Gucci, I'mma
shoot too
That choppa with the dope, I just might get
your ass beheaded
I don′t fuck with fuck niggas and they don′t
fuck with me
Watch your fuckin' mouth before I send killers
to your house
I′mma livin' legend, East Atlanta legend
The viewers scream nigga why you talk to
other (?)
El Chapo with the dope, I just might get your
ass beheaded
And my niggas (?) to send a message
First to tell ya "Motherfucker, trap or die", that
me OK
Mister whip or not and get a half a pie, that


me OK
Mister if I′m talkin' you should listen, game is
free OK
Mister got two whole ones and two half ones,
yeah that′s three OK
Leave up out of here with two bad ones, yeah,
that's me OK
Mister re-in' up with ′bout two phantoms,
yeah, that′s me OK
On that Avion to the head, hey, but me OK
Never put a bitch before my bread, hey, now
me OK
When L.A. Reid was in office made some
history up in Def Jam
If Jizzle ain't droppin′, nigga, what the fuck is
Def Jam?
I know you heard how your boy bossed up at
Atlantic
Boss shit, might just drop my next album on
Atlantic
I really hope you bitches ready, Vice-prezzy
and his Presi
Got some shit up in my bezzy, So what ya
sayin'? My wrist is heavy
All white, penthouse, yeah, like the one on
Belly
With a brown skin thing swear to God she look
like Kelly
Two door Rolls is how I′m rollin', plus you
know a nigga totin′
Keep that street nigga paper, rubber band it, it
ain't foldin'
First the XXL, read about me in the Forbes
That′s a long way from trappin′ in that 4-door
Accord
Wassup
Snow can eyeball a seven, yeah you best
believe without the scale
I just want the mansions and the riches, yeah
without the jail
You can call me postman, don't go somewhere
without some mail
In and out in 20 minutes, you best believe I′m
makin' bail
Put you on designer watches, put you on
designer frames
Had you cashin′ out, payin' for, you can′t
pronounce the name
Had that Murcielago, it was green like
margaritas
Sold yayo, I sold albums, might as well sell
some tequila
Dropped so many Lambos, thought I was a
Lam ambassador
Dropped so many Rollies, niggas thought I
owned the Rollie store
Snow it's been a while, yeah you know them
streets missed you
I don't eat, sleep, or shit without my
mothafuckin′ pistol