Hittas Songtext
von Yella Beezy

Mmh-yeah (CashMoneyAP)
Ayy, NLE (Top Shotta)
Top Shotta, yeah, yeah, ayy

Dope boy swag, Air Force 1′s wit' a white tee (a white tee, yeah)
I′m clutchin' Glocks, pussy nigga, ain't no fightin′ (yeah, yeah, yeah)
I crossed a nigga on a lick, yeah, I′m shiesty
I'm fuckin′ on a nigga bitch, yeah, I'm pipin′

Ayy, if I see an opp, then I'm dumpin′ my choppa
I'ma hit him wit' .50, he don′t need a doctor
When I see me a Perc′, bitch, you know I'ma pop it
And just like a baby, sip out the bottle (yeah-yeah)

I′m gone off these drugs, I know I don't need it
I′m sippin' on yellow, they callin′ me Beezy
She suckin' my dick and I love when she please me
Fucked her with her friend, they double teamin'

I′m on Mary Jane (Mary Jane) and Percy Jackson (and Percy Jackson)
I need to slow down on these drugs (ayy), think that I′m an addict
We livin' this murder, you know we not cappin′
And just like the cable, we bringin' the static


I′m stretchin' these niggas, they call me elastic
Cut him into half like I′m doin' a fraction (yeah, yeah)
Ain't no squares in my circle, bitch, I′m strapped like I′m Urkel
If he dissin' on me, swear to God I′ma hurt him

I put him in the dirt while I'm rockin′ some Birkins
And bitch, I'm a pimp, every ho ′round me workin'
Money turned clean, it was too damn dirty
Keep me a .30 like Stephen Curry
Opp say he gon' kill me, nigga, I ain′t worried
Up my Glock, then shoot it in a hurry

Ayy, I got niggas, they gon′ work it, they'll hit you, hey, hey
And all my niggas, they gon′ up it off the dribble, hey, hey
And I got pistols that go pop-pop, knock yo' gristle, hey, hey
And I won′t miss you, nah-nah, nah-nah, I won't miss you, hey, hey

I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters
I got niggas that kill for me off the dribble (off the dribble)
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters

Oh-oh, hey, I got that, hey
Tell me how the fuck a nigga gon′ carry pistols
And a nigga pop that, you ain't pop back? (Yeah)
Real live shooter woulda shot back, hey (shot back)
Cop killa, booty knock yo' top back, hey (boom)


That′s a ho tryna ride my jock strap, ayy
Ate the nut out my gut when I got back, ayy
Gave a nigga that back, so I rocked that, yeah
Real diamonds, nigga, go and rock that, ayy (ooh)

Ball hard, ball hard, pop that tag
Woulda scored 40 pounds when I bought my shag
Ayy, come on wit′ it
You want that work, then come on, get it

Nigga talkin' ′bout bags, say I'm all in it
You ain′t gotta worry, baby, I'ma come on wit′ it
Chase that sack on my own mission, old head niggas say I don't listen
My daddy always told me keep the firearm wit' me
If a nigga play crazy, I′ma fire on a nigga

I drop that bag, they gon′ kill you off the dribble (yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah)
Say you make me mad, make that funk, I off a nigga
Mmm, yeah, for the racks, they gon' come pop a nigga (pop a nigga)
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters

I got niggas, they gon′ work it, they'll hit you, hey, hey
And all my niggas, they gon′ up it off the dribble, hey, hey
And I got pistols that go pop-pop, knock yo' gristle, hey, hey
And I won′t miss you, nah-nah, nah-nah, I won't miss you, hey, hey

I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters
I got niggas that kill for me off the dribble (off the dribble)
I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters, I got hitters